tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48206828447940493412018-03-05T19:14:29.692-08:00Where the Ocean Meets the SkyThe writing of and to the publishing of the book, Where the Ocean Meets the Sky.Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-64107451916292369872013-01-09T16:05:00.000-08:002013-01-09T16:05:07.667-08:00Progress and a Dilemma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_-sxl2y64yg/UO4D_--kCeI/AAAAAAAAAyw/Eo_tkMsPubw/s1600/file000450679699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_-sxl2y64yg/UO4D_--kCeI/AAAAAAAAAyw/Eo_tkMsPubw/s400/file000450679699.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><h4>Progress-<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">I have completed the full rough draft (really rough draft) of Karen and Kyra's story. &nbsp;I need to complete the full rough draft of the teacher/writer&nbsp;story line (I am about half way through). &nbsp;I am 11,000 polished words into the book. &nbsp;I wish there were more hours in a day.<br /><br />When I was a child I remember my mom saying "Think about all the things one could accomplish if we didn't need to sleep!" &nbsp;At the time I didn't really understand what she meant...now I ponder if I could get by on a few less hours of sleep a night and spend that time writing.<br /><br />Hmmm, if I did that I would probably become more strange and neurotic, not sure my family would like that.<br /><br /></span>A Dilemma-<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">Recently there was a book published using the title Where the Ocean Meets the Sky. &nbsp;I wish that book and the author all the luck in the world and many copies sold, BUT, it leaves me finding a new title for my book. &nbsp;(tear - I really liked the one I had)<br /><br />Karen and Kyra's story is set on the west coast of Florida. &nbsp;Karen looks to that point on the horizon where the sun sets to gather strength, to find hope, and to subside her fears. &nbsp;The teacher/writer's (I haven't decided on her name yet) story is set on the coast of North Carolina. &nbsp;She looks to that point on the horizon where the sun rises to gather peace for herself and inspiration to overcome writer's block and finish her novel...which is Karen and Kyra's story. &nbsp;Both Karen and the teacher/writer rely on their view of where the ocean meets the sky to get them through tough times.<br /><br />If you have any suggestions for the new title, please let me know.</span></h4><div><br /></div><div>Until next time...</div><div><br /></div><div>Brooke</div><br /><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-66705089567398259152012-12-29T20:52:00.002-08:002012-12-30T18:17:58.683-08:00A Story To Be Told<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">&nbsp;<img height="300" id="main_img" src="http://cdn.morguefile.com/imageData/public/files/a/anitapatterson/preview/fldr_2005_05_28/file000533175307.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><br />Have you ever told someone about an experience that happened in your life and as you were telling your story, your mind wants to add to it.&nbsp; Wants to add some details, some additional experiences, some lessons to be learned along the way.&nbsp; Has this ever happened to you?<br /><br />This has happened to me.&nbsp; The original story is quite simple and ordinary...but the additions my mind wants to make are fantastic and extreme.<br /><br />The story, so ordinary and simple, has become a wonderful walk through the life of a young woman who didn't have a support system in her teens or early 20s.&nbsp; Then she met the man of her dreams who gave her a beautiful little girl.&nbsp; This 'man of her dreams' turns out to be so much less then that.&nbsp; He turns out to be a thoughtless, selfish man who, in a single afternoon, destroys her security and self worth.<br /><br /><br />There she stands, tears tracking down her face, her heart completely shattered, and in her right hand...the tiny hand of her little girl.&nbsp; It is her job to protect and care for her little girl by herself...and at this moment...she has nothing.<br /><br />What would you do if you found yourself penniless, homeless, with no one in the world to call for help and a little girl to care for...seriously...what would you do?<br /><br />Where the Ocean Meets the Sky walks through this story and explains exactly what Karen did to survive and to protect her baby girl.&nbsp; This story of ingenuity, survival, and the intense love a mother has for her child will touch your heart and make you cry.&nbsp; At least, that is what it does for me as I write it.<br /><br />Thanks for reading,<br /><br />BrookeBrooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-59760350647540239582012-12-28T20:07:00.000-08:002012-12-29T08:40:03.959-08:00Where the Ocean Meets the Sky(Possible first paragraph) <br /><br />Her plane begins descending through the clouds and will be landing in Boston in a few moments.&nbsp; The view of the horizon through the aircraft's window is beautiful.&nbsp; What a wonderful late spring day.&nbsp; In a few days, her daughter will be graduating from Harvard Law School.&nbsp; Karen is beaming with pride for her daughter's accomplishments, but her forehead has worry lines.&nbsp; She worries that Kyra's adult life will contain the same pain and anguish that her's did.&nbsp; She has done her best to protect Kyra through her childhood until now. Letting go of Kyra, the child, to become Kyra, the woman, will be harder then she ever thought it would be.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bPkLBb5smB4/UN5vAy3digI/AAAAAAAAAxc/j9IBt-9lnyI/s1600/file9921293246886.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bPkLBb5smB4/UN5vAy3digI/AAAAAAAAAxc/j9IBt-9lnyI/s400/file9921293246886.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />(A quote from later in the book)<br /><br />She sits on the bench and pulls her sweater around her a little tighter to keep out the cool evening breeze.&nbsp; The moonlight is dancing on the water.&nbsp; The water looks so beautiful; a wonderful bluish black color with moonlight dancing atop so perfectly.&nbsp; Her mind takes her back to the first time she saw moonlight reflect off ocean water.<br /><br />It was the middle of July and she was 17.&nbsp; She and her parents had just moved to Clearwater, Florida, from Ohio.&nbsp; Her parents were.... (interested?)Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-22305433199268348342012-12-27T18:13:00.001-08:002012-12-27T18:13:57.209-08:00I have an anouncement to make...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L68Gt3omWr8/UN0AQwtyW3I/AAAAAAAAAw8/8NUy73W3pwk/s1600/Where+the+Ocean+Meets+the+Sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L68Gt3omWr8/UN0AQwtyW3I/AAAAAAAAAw8/8NUy73W3pwk/s1600/Where+the+Ocean+Meets+the+Sky.JPG" /></a></div>This blog...So, Whatcha Think? is going to be changed (for a time) to the Where the Ocean Meets the Sky blog.<br /><br />The book, So Whatcha Think? is currently on hold until some milestones and speed bumps can be overcome.&nbsp; I hope you are not upset by this.&nbsp; Please understand...it is what it is.<br /><br />Where the Ocean Meets the Sky was the second manuscript behind So, Whatcha Think? and was to be published after.&nbsp; But it appears it will be published prior to the release of So, Whatcha Think?.<br /><br />This blog will begin to cronicle the writing of and up to the publishing of, Where the Ocean Meets the Sky.<br /><br />I sincerely hope you stick around and continue to read this blog and follow along. <br /><br />Please understand...So, Whatcha Think? will be published, but not until it is ready.&nbsp; Your attention and following of this book is not in vein.<br /><br />Thank you staying on board this crazy train!<br /><br />Sincerely and THANK YOU for reading...<br /><br />Brooke Ryter<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-79111920773967890362012-11-07T09:59:00.001-08:002012-11-12T09:04:30.907-08:00Update on Mrs. Berris and Aunt Ellie<img border="0" height="361" src="http://mrg.bz/K3MVNt" width="400" /><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2012/04/aunt-ellie-and-mrs-barris.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #990000;">Aunt Ellie and Mrs. Berris</span></a> is a story I wrote back in April 2012. It was a flash fiction of 1000 words or less.&nbsp; The story is fiction based on a few actual truths. &nbsp;If you haven't read it before, <a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2012/04/aunt-ellie-and-mrs-barris.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #990000;">read it</span></a> before continuing to read this post.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My son and his family, which includes my 3 year old grandson, moved in with my Mom a few days ago.&nbsp; Last night, my son and I had the following text conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Him - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Mom, is this house haunted?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">That depends on if you believe.&nbsp; Say hi to Mrs. Berry for me…bwahahaha<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Him - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We have heard footsteps on the second floor two mornings in a row with solid proof no one is up there.&nbsp; Like today, I heard them right before I left with Grandpa for work.&nbsp; He was in the kitchen like 10 seconds before I walked in and Steve was right behind me.&nbsp; Everyone else was asleep.&nbsp; Then Heidi heard it again and again, so she got up to check, and Grandma and Chris were still asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Her name is Mrs. Berry. She is harmless as long as you don’t anger her by being afraid of her.&nbsp; It is okay to talk to her, she likes it.&nbsp; She loves children. She always made sure you stayed covered up on cold nights when we lived in the house. She probably remembers you. The house was a wedding gift to her from her new husband nearly 100 years ago. They lived, loved, and raised their children in that house. After she died, Mr. Berry couldn’t stand to be in the house without her, so he sold it…to your grandparents. Just say…Hello Mrs. Berry, and know, she is always keeping an eye on your son. You are safest in the house with her there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She can’t leave the house because she can’t bring herself to leave the memory of her wonderful life there. That is where her children were born and came home to on Christmas. That is where she lived her life with her true love. It is a wonderful story.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We used to live upstairs with her. I appreciated all the trouble and harm she kept you and your brother from getting into. Again, tell her I said hi.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Him - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">So this is truly real? Because we have heard true footsteps up there one after another all the way across the room above us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Yes, it is truly real. But zero reason to be afraid. I see her as the best Great Aunt and Nanny I could have had. She is/was a wonderful and caring woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If you are hearing her, she is testing you to see if you are afraid. Really, just talk to her and you will hear her less. But, every now and then you will hear something fall in another room that shouldn’t have fallen. When this happens…check the children…she is trying to tell you something is wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Ask your Grandma about her.&nbsp; She knows the whole story.&nbsp; I met Mr. Berry not long before he died. He came to the house one last time to tell his love goodbye.&nbsp; She won’t hurt you, she will keep you safe. Treasure her presence like I did when I lived there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">By the way, your bedroom, the bathroom, the storage room, the kitchen, the laundry room, and the sunroom are all additions to the original house.&nbsp; Those additions are all single story…there is no room above your bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me - </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Sleep well Son.&nbsp; Goodnight Mrs. Berry.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Him – </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Goodnight Mom…GOODNIGHT MRS. BERRY!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">So…tell me…do you believe?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-35201665037992214242012-07-20T16:30:00.000-07:002012-07-23T11:57:13.332-07:00Chapter 2<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P2-mWCSrUjk/UAnpITmZNwI/AAAAAAAAAvk/K9ejvDHoxBE/s1600/Cover+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P2-mWCSrUjk/UAnpITmZNwI/AAAAAAAAAvk/K9ejvDHoxBE/s640/Cover+2.jpg" width="432" /></a></div><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><br /></b></span></i><br /><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Chapter 2 Cover</b></span></i></div><i><span style="color: blue;">(There will be 5 chapters released prior to the books publish date. &nbsp;This is the first of those chapter releases. &nbsp;Each chapter release will have a different cover. &nbsp;After the last release, all covers will be posted along with a poll on my&nbsp;<a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>&nbsp;for the reader's vote. &nbsp;The cover with the most votes will become the cover of the book when published. &nbsp;An Adobe PDF file of this chapter is available for download and saving at my&nbsp;</span></i><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>.</span></i><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">)</span></i><br /><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><o:p><i style="background-color: white; text-indent: 0.3in;">Chapter 2</i></o:p></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><br /></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><b>OUR ANGEL BABY, OUR LOVE<o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">&nbsp;</span><b style="background-color: white; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">&nbsp;</span></b></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She stood still, her back pressed against the wall as she looked down at the kitchen timer clutched in her hand. The countdown from 5 minutes seemed to be taking an hour. The pregnancy test sat alone in the center of the bathroom counter top.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It had been 4 years since they first began trying to have a baby and her period has never been late. This month, it was late. She waited two full weeks before buying the test. Disappointment had become a monthly experience and sh</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;">e was trying not </span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;">to get her hopes up. She could not help it, she was praying every day for a baby.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last night she could not sleep and by 5:00 AM she could not wait any longer. She quietly slid out of bed so she would not wake Scott, gathered the pregnancy test and the kitchen timer, and tip toed for the bathroom.</span></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">5, 4, 3, 2; she turned off the timer just before it buzzed. She had decided if the test was negative, she would not say anything to him. He wanted to be a daddy so badly. Lately they had been talking about adopting. His eyes lit up whenever they talked about having children, either of their own or through adoption.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She cautiously walked to the counter to check the test results. Her vision blurred with tears, her hands were shaking with anticipation. Inside the small square on the test were two lines. Was this right? Was she really pregnant?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She scooped up the test and danced around the bathroom. Being quiet was no longer necessary. She burst through the bathroom door spilling light into the darkness of their bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Scott! Scott!” she yelled as she jumped into the middle of the bed. He was startled and sat up quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What? What’s wrong?” His eyes were still glazed and unfocused.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Look! Look! We’re pregnant!” She handed him the test as she squealed with excitement. In the semi-darkness of the room he could not see the results.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pregnant?” he said, still confused and not quite awake yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A baby! We’re going to have a baby!” She hugged him tightly. He hugged her with his left arm while he lifted the test in his right hand and tried to see the results over her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We’re going to have a baby? You’re pregnant?” Excitement was building in his chest. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. His heart was beating fast as his eyes finally focused on the test results.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We’re going to have a baby.” He hugged her, kissed her gently, then whispered, “I’m going to be a daddy and you’re going to be a mommy. Now I won’t be the only kid in the house.” He winked at her as a smile crept across his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy made an appointment with her doctor to confirm the home pregnancy test results. Once her doctor confirmed that she was, indeed, six weeks pregnant, she called anyone and everyone she had ever known to tell them the wonderful news.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the next couple weeks Cindy cleaned and rearranged the second bedroom to turn it into the baby’s room. She knew exactly how she wanted her baby’s nursery to look. Every day after work she stopped by the mall to buy baby things. Adorable newborn outfits, pacifiers, baby powder, teething toys; she was so excited she was skipping as she shopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On a Monday morning just after Scott had left for work, she began cramping and spotting. She called her doctor’s office in a panic. She was only about eight weeks pregnant and she feared she was losing the baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You need to be seen as soon as possible. We have an opening at 9:15.” the scheduling clerk said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ll be there.” Cindy’s voice was shaky.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not wasting anytime, she called Scott.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m spotting and cramping. I called the doctor’s office and they said I need to go in this morning.” He could hear the tears in her voice and feel his own panic in his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m on my way.” He raced home.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She and Scott arrived at the doctor’s office at 8:45 and checked in at the counter. The nurse ushered them into an exam room within a few moments. The doctor examined her and took some blood for laboratory tests.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re still pregnant, but you need to stay as calm as you can. I also want you on bed rest just to be sure.” the doctor said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What’s wrong?” she asked him. Scott watched the doctor intently waiting for an answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We won’t know until we get the test results back. You need to stay calm and stay in bed until we know for sure what we are dealing with.” He was so calm. “I want to see you in a week. I will have the test results by then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott made the appointment for the following Monday morning before they left the doctor’s office. There was silence in the car during the drive home. They were both lost in their own thoughts. After arriving home, she put on her sweats and got into bed. Scott sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Everything’s going to be fine.” He stared down at her hand hoping she would not see the fear and worry on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What if everything isn’t fine? What if I lose our baby?” Tears were streaming down her face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His eyes were filled with tears as they lifted to meet hers. She looked as scared as he felt. “The doctor said you need to stay calm. You won’t lose our baby, everything will be fine.” He was trying his best to reassure and calm her as he held her tight. She cried softly against his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott called Cindy’s supervisor and explained what the doctor had said while she tried to watch television to take her mind off of all the horrible scenarios that were rolling around in her mind. Scott sat in a kitchen chair he had situated next to the bed and held her hand. He hoped holding her hand was as reassuring to her as it was to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott had to return to work the next day. Cindy spent the rest of the week filling out the long-term leave paperwork her supervisor had mailed to her, tried her best to read happy books, and watch interesting television to keep her mind occupied. She decided that staying calm and keeping a positive outlook was what she needed to do for her baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They were back at the doctor’s office the next Monday morning. Their wait time was again short before being taken to an exam room. The doctor entered the exam room after only a few moments.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Let’s do a vaginal ultrasound.” he said as he gathered the necessary equipment and supplies.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She could see the ultrasound screen but none of the images made any sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“See, the baby’s right there.” The doctor pointed to the screen. This was the first time she had seen her baby. The image on the screen looked more like a bean than a baby, but for her, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cindy. See? There’s our baby.” Scott’s grin could not have been any bigger. He held her hand tight as her gaze stayed on her little bean on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m really pregnant. I can’t believe it. I can see the baby’s heart beating.” She could barely contain her giggles.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The images on the screen scrambled as the doctor moved the wand around. He was intently looking at something on the screen that looked alien to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor looked at her and then at Scott. His eyebrows were furrowed and the frown lines on his forehead were more prominent than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What you have is a condition called Placental Previa. Your lab results suggested it and the ultrasound confirms the condition. A portion of your cervix is covered by the placenta. This is a serious condition that, I’m sorry to say, in most cases ends in miscarriage when it happens this early in the pregnancy. There’s no treatment, only preventive measures that can be taken. Even if you follow all the preventive measures, there’s no guarantee that this pregnancy will go full term. I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There has to be something we can do.” Scott was unable to mask his fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy had moved her hand onto her belly. Her baby was in there and she would make sure her baby lived. She looked up at Scott as he placed his hand on hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Our baby’s going to be healthy and happy.” he whispered to her. Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m going to have our scheduling clerk set you an appointment with a specialist. In the meantime, stay on bed rest. On your feet only to use the restroom, understand?” the doctor said with authority.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Understood” she whispered as she wiped tears away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was two weeks before Cindy could be seen by the specialist. She followed her doctor’s instructions to the letter. During the weeks since her last appointment, she committed to herself that she would do everything possible to make sure her baby survived.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The specialist confirmed the diagnosis and put her on bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What are the chances that my baby will make it?” She sheepishly asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The chances of your pregnancy surviving long enough for your baby to be viable are less than 5 percent. I’m sorry, but we’re going to do all we can to keep you in that percentage.” the doctor said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The confidence in his voice was as reassuring as all the photographs of newborn babies that were displayed in the waiting room and along all the hallways in his office. Pictures of babies he had brought into the world; each one born from a high-risk pregnancy. This gave Cindy hope and a feeling of reassurance that this doctor knew what he was doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott felt helpless. He wished he could take Cindy’s pain and heartache away. All he could think to do was buy her magazines and books, and he found several craft projects for her to work on. Every morning he would make her breakfast and pack her lunch and some snacks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Every night before he left work, he would call her to see if she wanted him to pick up anything on his way home. Many times she would ask for the bean burrito with green sauce that she loved so much from her favorite Mexican restaurant. He would get her anything she asked; he was not sure how else to help her through this. He knew this was hard on her and that she was scared. He worried all the time about her and the baby, but did not want to put more of a burden on her by talking about his fears.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I can’t believe you get to lie around all day while I am stuck working.” Cindy’s Aunt Helen had been great about calling her every couple of days. The two had been close since she was a young girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This isn’t great. I miss going to work. I miss talking to people face to face. I miss walking around. I even miss grocery shopping.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I can only imagine how hard this is. I wish there was something I could do to help. How’s the baby doing? Are you still bleeding?” Aunt Helen asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The bleeding has stopped almost completely. Still a little cramping from time to time, but not like it was in the beginning.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s a good sign, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, the doctor says that if everything stays like this, the baby will be born full term.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s fantastic.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m going to hold my baby, I just know it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes you will. Don’t you worry, you will hold that baby.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The specialist insisted on seeing Cindy weekly. Her Mondays were filled with ultrasounds, blood work, and examinations. At 13 weeks along, the doctor told her that the ultrasound showed that she was only 12 weeks pregnant, so they moved her due date. At 14 weeks along, the same thing happened. The doctor again said she was only 12 weeks and moved her due date again. She felt like the doctor was playing a cruel joke on her. She was beginning to feel like she would be pregnant and on bed rest forever. Time was moving slowly and all she wanted to do was to hold her baby. Hold her healthy baby in her arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At 18 weeks along, the doctor informed her and Scott that their baby was a boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We’re having a little boy.” She was so excited. Finding out the baby’s sex was a moment that Cindy would never forget. That moment symbolized to her that the baby had made it; he was certainly going to survive. Although he was small, he was developing fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor said that he felt safe releasing her from bed rest, but only to move to the living room. He reminded her to be careful and not to do too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Monitor your activity, if you start to cramp or bleed get back to bed.” he warned.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally she was able to start moving around her home a little. She could get up and walk down the hall to lie on the sofa. She could stand in the kitchen long enough to make herself a sandwich. She welcomed the view from the sofa and the freedom, although small, to make her own lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott began purchasing outfits, toys, and other baby items. He would wrap them in gift bags and tissue paper for Cindy to open. He enjoyed bringing her baby gifts and the joy on her face as she opened each of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At 23 weeks along, they headed out to her regular Monday appointment. This time, their wait time was almost an hour. This was unusual. It was always nerve racking and physically exhausting to go to these appointments but this time with the long wait, Cindy began cramping. Scott went to the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How much longer? She can’t sit in a chair like this for very long and it has already been nearly an hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It will only be a few more minutes Sir.” The girl behind the counter told him. “We’re behind today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After another 20 minutes, they finally called her name. They were taken to an exam room to wait for the doctor. Cindy was able to lie down on the exam table and that eased the cramps some.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor finally came into the exam room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before the doctor had time to close the door, Scott burst out saying, “I realize that you’re behind today, but she can’t be up for that long. In the future should we reschedule when there’s a long wait time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sometimes things get backed up.” The doctor wasn’t his usual self. He seemed distant and unconcerned.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott looked at Cindy and she shrugged her shoulders. As Scott was about to ask the question again, the doctor said. “I have your lab results back from last week. I think it’s time we talk about ending this pregnancy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What!?!” Scott yelled. “Have you lost your mind? How dare you say that to her. Last week everything was fine and now you want her to end the pregnancy? She’s worked hard to follow all your instructions so our baby will be born healthy. Why would you say this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Look, the chances of this child being born alive, let alone healthy are slim to none. Save yourself the heartache and terminate the pregnancy.” The doctor’s tone was flat and rude.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hearing those words was all it took for Cindy. She immediately began crying harder than she had cried in years. Scott helped her sit up and then to her feet. “Don’t cry Honey, we’re leaving.” he said without looking at the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t worry, we’ll find a new doctor. This guy’s crazy. Let’s go.” He ushered her out of the exam room and took her home.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It took her several days to recoup from the doctor visit and she slipped into a depression. She was still cramping and spotting days later. She put herself back on bed rest to try all she could to save her son.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor’s words kept running through her mind. She could never end her pregnancy. This was the baby they have wanted for so long. He was her little bean, her little boy. The doctor’s statement bothered her. She had spent months trusting and believing in him and his skill to save her little boy and now he was asking her to kill him. “Why?” She kept asking herself, “why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She and Scott did not stay at the doctor’s office long enough to find out what her lab results were. What information was in those results that made him sure her son was not going to make it? She thought about calling the doctor’s office and asking one of the nurses to tell her, but part of her did not want to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By the end of the next week, she was still waiting for her regular doctor to refer her to another specialist. She had stayed in bed and the cramping and spotting had stopped. She was officially 24 weeks along.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m feeling good this morning and we will make it to delivery.” she thought to herself. She had an energy she had not felt since the day she found out they were going to have this baby. She felt good enough to lie on the sofa, make her own lunch; she even did a few dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Around 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon, she began cramping, only this time the cramping was much stronger then she had experienced before. She tried taking a hot shower hoping that the warmth would relax her muscles. This had worked for her in the past, but not this time. She called Scott at work.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m too far away. Call your mom and ask her to take you to the emergency room and I’ll meet you there.” He said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her mom arrived to pick her up within minutes of her phone call. They arrived at the emergency room about 15 minutes later. Cindy was rushed into an exam room. Because they had not found a new doctor yet, the specialist they had been seeing was called. The nurse informed her that the specialist had refused to come to the hospital so they had contacted her regular doctor and he was on his way.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The nurse examined her and confirmed that she was in labor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s too soon for him to be born.” Cindy told the nurse. “He can’t be born now. There has to be a medication to stop the labor. Please. Stop my labor. He can’t be born yet.” She broke down in tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott finally arrived at the hospital and was escorted through the door of the exam room by a nurse. He rushed to Cindy’s side.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They said I’m in labor. He can’t be born this early. Do something!” She was hysterical.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Shhh, everything’s going to be okay. Calm down. They’ll do all the right things.” Scott’s voice was soothing and calm. He stroked her hair while he talked softly to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another nurse came into the room with an IV.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We’re going to give you some medication to try to stop your contractions. Just relax and stay calm.” The nurse had a smile that reminded Cindy of her grandmother. A reassuring and strong smile. This helped her to calm down and believe that they would be able to stop her labor and her little bean would be fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They tried a medication but it was not working. So they decided to try another medication, but this one made Cindy’s heart race and it did not work to stop the contractions either.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They wanted to try another, but the doctor on duty said it was too dangerous. She was at risk of a heart attack.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m sorry. We’re going to have to prep you for a Cesarean Section.” The doctor on duty said. “Your doctor is here and he’s scrubbing now. I’m truly sorry; there’s nothing more we can do.” He patted her arm as he spoke. A nurse had walked up on the other side of her bed and was beginning to prep her for surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor turned to Scott. “Follow this nurse and she’ll show you where you need to go to get scrubbed and gowned up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The nurses had Cindy prepped and in the operating room in a matter of minutes. Scott finally came into the operating room dressed in hospital scrubs, wearing a mask. A nurse asked Cindy to roll onto her side, then she said, “I’ll be right back.” and she left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott could hear her softly crying. He pulled a small doctor stool from the corner over to the operating table and sat down. He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes as he pulled the mask off of his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Our son is going to be fine. He’s strong, just like you. Don’t be sad, today we get to meet the person who will be holding our hand when we die. This is a great day. Smile and have faith; I do. I have faith that a year from now we’re going to go on a picnic in the park with our little boy for his first birthday.” Tears that had run down his cheeks were dripping from his jaw but his face remained calm and certain.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s too early for him to be born. I’m so scared I’m going to lose him. I won’t be able to survive it if I lose him.” She was crying harder now. Scott caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips as they looked into each other’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh my God!” Panic consumed her face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What? What’s wrong?” Scott said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“My water just broke.” Her pretty face was twisted in fear. Scott released her hand and ran into the hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Help! Someone, help!” He yelled up the hallway towards the nurse’s station. A nurse ran past him and into the operating room. Scott ran in right behind her and returned to his stool. He held Cindy’s hand as the nurse told her to roll onto her back so she could check her. As she lifted the sheet, the expression on her face changed. Cindy yelled in pain and the nurse didn’t look up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There we go Mom. You’re doing fine.” The nurse said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What’s happening?” Scott’s voice was now panicked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Almost there.” The nurse said as the doctor came into the room and stood behind her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Look what I found Mom.” She said as she held up a tiny baby boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The room filled quickly with staff. The doctor took the baby into the corner of the room and started working on him. Cindy could not see him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Is he alive? Is he breathing? Is he ok?” No one turned around. No one answered her questions. She just wanted someone to let her know if he was all right.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening!?!” She screamed so loudly her voice echoed through the room. Suddenly she felt very sleepy and everything went dark. She had not seen the anesthesiologist take his seat at the head of the operating table. He had administered medication through her IV to calm her and help her sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott’s eyes were wide as they darted from doctor to nurse, back to the doctor, to another nurse. The quickness in their movements and intensity of their attention on his son was alarming. It confirmed what he thought he saw. A tiny baby, not any bigger than his hand. He really thought the baby would be bigger. He was terrified for his son and his wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A couple of hours later, Cindy awoke in her hospital room. Scott was sitting in a chair next to the bed staring at the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Is he alive?” Her eyes filled with tears as she lifted her head to look at Scott.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott quickly looked up from a solemn spot on the floor. “Yes, he’s alive and they’re taking good care of him.” Scott reassuringly squeezed her hand. She closed her eyes and put her head back on the pillow.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So, did you finally decide on a name?” A crooked smile crept across his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We had talked about so many, which name do you like?” She asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I think you have earned the right to pick his name. After all, he wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t sacrificed so much to make sure he had every chance of surviving.” Scott was so proud of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How about Jeremy? I like Jeremy more than the other names we talked about.” She felt much better knowing her little bean was alive and that she was able to pick his name.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jeremy it is.” Scott sounded as excited as she was beginning to feel. He stood, leaned in, and kissed the tip of her nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The door to her room opened and the doctor was smiling when he entered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, how’s Mom doing?” he asked her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m fine. How’s my baby?” she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He’s breathing on his own, which is fantastic and unexpected. He’s so premature that his lungs aren’t fully developed yet, and he weighs only 1 pound, 11 ounces. He’s very fragile and not out of the woods by any means. I made arrangements to have him flown to Children’s Hospital. They are the best at treating preemies. The Children’s Hospital team has already arrived by helicopter and they will put him on a respirator. You can see him before he’s transported. I’ll have the nurse come get you when they’re ready for you.” He stepped forward and patted Cindy’s leg as he said, “You did real good Mom.” He smiled at her, turned and walked toward the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The nurse will be in to get you in a few minutes.” He said to her as he opened the door to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He only weighs 1 pound, 11 ounces?” she said in disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He’s perfect, Honey, and he’s going to be fine.” Scott was trying to convince himself as much as he was her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The nurse finally came into her room pushing a wheelchair.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come on Mom; let’s go see your baby boy.” The nurse said as she stretched out her hand to help her into the wheelchair.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Here Dad, you push Mom and I’ll show the two of you where to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They went down the hall and instead of going to the Nursery, they went into another patient room. “He’s not in the Nursery?” Cindy questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We made a special room just for him.” the nurse replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The room looked so large because they had removed the hospital bed and in its place was a tiny incubator. The incubator seemed so minuscule in this room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He’s all alone.” Cindy thought. She wanted to hold him, to kiss his little forehead, and sing to him, but she was not allowed to even touch him. He was locked in a plastic box. She leaned forward in the wheelchair and rested her forehead on the side of the incubator. Her vision blurred and tears tracked her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There he lay, naked, much too small for a diaper. He had a little blue cap on his head, the respirator covered his mouth, and the tape to hold that in place covered most of his cheeks. A mask covered his eyes. All Cindy could see of her little bean’s face was the tiny tip of his little nose. There were tubes and wires on his chest, stomach, and under his cap. His skin was transparent. It looked as if it would be painful for him if she were to touch him. She still wanted so badly to hold him. As her forehead stayed pressed to the flat plastic wall separating her from her little bean, more tears rolled down her cheeks and fell to the cold tile floor. Scott leaned forward from behind the wheelchair and hugged her as he cried softly into her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The helicopter medical crew entered the room to take her baby away. She wanted to fight for him to stay or for her to be able to go with him. She knew that neither could happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come on Mom, we need to let them do what they need to do.” the nurse said as she put her hand on Cindy’s shoulder. Cindy did not move. She kept her forehead on the side of the incubator and her eyes fixed on her son. This was the closest she could get to him and she did not have the will to pull away. Scott put one hand on each of her shoulders and gently eased her back in the wheelchair. She could not take her eyes off her little bean.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The crew secured and gathered all the equipment and wheeled her son out of the room. Scott pushed her wheelchair into the hallway as the crew wheeled the incubator down the hall. The farther they went, the harder she cried. Then the crew and her little bean disappeared through a door. The bang of the door closing echoed through the hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Scott, let’s get her back to bed.” He had been so intent watching the incubator carrying his son that he had not seen the nurse walk up and her voice startled him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, yeah. Yeah, okay.” He rubbed Cindy’s shoulder. “I’m going to get you back to bed now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She did not respond and her gaze did not leave the closed door they had taken her son through until Scott had pushed the wheelchair around a corner and the door was no longer in view.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not long after Scott helped her back into bed, she began crying again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Honey, please don’t cry. He’s going to be okay. He’s in good hands.” He did not know exactly what to say or how to hide the overwhelming panic that was seeping into every fiber of his being.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I can’t stand the thought of him there alone. Someone needs to be with him. Please go be with him. Please.” She was sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I don’t want to leave you by yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m fine. They’re not going to release me until tomorrow. But you’re not stuck here like I am. Please go be with him.” she begged.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Okay, I’ll call your cell every hour and give you an update.” He gathered his jacket and headed for the door. As he opened the door he turned to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I love you Cindy Ann.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I love you too. Now go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He called her an hour later. Scott told her that Jeremy was stable and that was about all he knew at that point, which was not exactly the truth. Jeremy was stable, but the doctor had told him that Jeremy’s chances for survival were slim. He felt there was no reason for Cindy to be reminded of that information, at least not yet. He called her every hour and gave her happy updates.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next afternoon when she was released, Scott was there to pick her up. Before they had made it into the hallway from her hospital room, she was already asking to be taken to see her little bean.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s exactly where we’re headed. I knew you wouldn’t want to go home,” he reassured her as they got onto the elevator.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It seemed to take forever to drive to Children’s Hospital and even longer to scrub and dress for admittance into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Once inside, Scott escorted her past several rooms along a long hallway. Each room held six incubators. The last room along the hallway was where her baby boy was.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When she entered the room, she knew exactly which incubator he was in. She looked down through the plastic top of the incubator at her little bean. She put her hand on the top just above his chest as she smiled down at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How’s my little man?” She said softly. When she spoke, Jeremy stirred. She and Scott looked at each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He hasn’t done that while I was here.” Scott said. “Talk to him again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey Jeremy, can you say hi to Mommy?” He stirred again. When she looked up, Scott was gone. He returned a moment later with a nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Watch this and tell us what it means. Go ahead Honey, talk to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jeremy, can you hear me, Sweetie?” Again, the baby stirred. The nurse smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s a good thing. He knows your voice. He can hear you. Talk to him. Talk to your son. It’s good for him to hear you; to know you’re here.” The nurse patted Cindy’s arm and left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott moved a chair next to the incubator for Cindy to sit in. She sat in that chair and talked to her baby non-stop. She told him stories about her childhood, about every pet she had ever had, about vacations, about anything and everything she could think of.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the Neonatal doctor made his rounds, he introduced himself to Cindy and asked that she and Scott step into the hallway so they could talk. He explained to her everything that the hospital staff had done, what still needed to be done, what everyone was watching for, and that he would need to stay in the Unit for 3 to 4 months. He explained that Jeremy’s chances for survival were very slim. She was overwhelmed and scared. She could not allow the thought that her little boy could die to linger in her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thank you for talking with us and explaining things. Is it all right if I go back to my son now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, of course.” He responded.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She slipped between Scott and the doctor and was back at her son’s side.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you think she understands that he may not survive?” The doctor asked Scott.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I think she understands it, but I don’t think she will choose to believe it.” He was terrified that his son would die and worried what would happen to Cindy if that happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott returned to work and spent his evenings at the hospital with Jeremy and Cindy. For the next 6 weeks, she left the hospital only to attend her own doctor’s appointments. The rest of her time was spent at her son’s side. There was a chair by each incubator that folded out into a type of cot. She never slept long, just an hour here and an hour there. Jeremy responded to the sound of her voice and his stats remained good while she was talking. If she was quiet for more than about an hour, his stats would begin to drop.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The end of her maternity leave had not crossed her mind. When her doctor released her to return to work, she called her supervisor and explained that she needed to be with her son to talk to him. Her supervisor was sweet and understanding, but the protocol was clear. Return to work or you lose your job. She could not lose her job that would mean she would lose their health insurance. She did not want to leave him, but she had no choice. The following Monday, she returned to work. After work that first day, she went straight to the hospital to be with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When she arrived, she found extra monitors had been hooked up to him. The nurse explained that all day his stats had dropped to dangerous levels. When she began talking to him, his stats went back up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wish there was a way you could stay like you used to. He needs the sound of your voice.” The nurse said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy felt panicked. What was she going to do? His health was in jeopardy because she had to work. Their health coverage was in jeopardy if she did not.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott arrived about a half hour later. She explained to him what had happened to Jeremy’s stats that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What are we going to do?” She began to cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy’s cell phone rang and interrupted their conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hi. Just wanted to call and check on you guys and that beautiful baby boy.” Aunt Helen said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy explained the events of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I don’t know what to do.” Cindy told her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Cindy, don’t be upset. I have an idea. Let me call you back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About an hour later, the nurse came in and told Cindy she had a visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who would come here to visit me?” She asked Scott.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, you won’t know until you go find out.” He smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She followed the nurse to the door that led out of the Unit. When she walked through the door she saw her aunt standing there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I picked these up hoping they would solve your problem.” She said as she handed Cindy a microcassette recorder, a case of tapes, and replacement batteries.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Record yourself talking to him and while you are at work the nurses can play your voice to him. It’ll be like you are with him, even when you are not. I hope this works. It was the only thing I could think of.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy hugged her aunt tighter than she ever had.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are the smartest woman I know.” Cindy was nearly giddy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Go on. Go make some tapes for your son. I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow to see how he is.” The two hugged again and Helen headed for the elevator.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy returned to her son’s side, set up the recorder, and began to tape herself while she read him a children’s book. Scott leaned against a wall and watched as the woman he loved taped herself reading to the baby boy he loved with all his heart. He was so proud of both of them. She was giving every moment she could to their son and Jeremy was fighting for his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She stayed up all night reading books, singing songs, and talking to him, taping every sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next day before she left the hospital to go to work, she explained to the nurse to keep the tapes playing all day. The nurse promised she would.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That evening when she arrived back at her son’s side from work, the nurse reported that his stats stayed good until the tape stopped. But as soon as the nurse put a new tape in the player and pressed play, his stats would rapidly get better.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is an excellent idea. I think we should invest in some of these to have around the Unit for all the babies,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the next few months Jeremy gained weight and got stronger. He was not out of danger yet, but with every passing day his chances for survival increased.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was finally moved out of the closed incubator and into an open one. Cindy was finally able to touch his skin, to hold him, to kiss his little forehead. She would spend little bits of time rocking him in a rocking chair until the nurses made her return him to the incubator. Holding him in her arms was the most magical feeling she had ever felt.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Jeremy’s actual due date was about a week away, the doctor told them that if he was strong enough, he could go home on that day. In preparation for Jeremy’s homecoming, Cindy’s mom and some of her friends had carefully completed the task of turning the second bedroom of Scott and Cindy’s home into a nursery. It was perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On Jeremy’s due date, Scott and Cindy anxiously awaited the doctor’s determination after examining him. He asked them to step into the hallway to talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m sorry. He can’t go home yet. He just isn’t strong enough. I want to move him to another area of the Unit where it’s quieter. I want to observe how he does in conditions similar to a home environment. Many times, premature babies don’t do well in quiet conditions. If he does well in the new area and gets a little stronger, he may be able to go home in about a week.” the doctor explained.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s fine. I don’t want to jeopardize his health in any way. I’d love to be able to take him home, but if he isn’t ready, he isn’t ready.” Cindy was determined that her little boy was going to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was not long after he was moved to the new area that he began to show signs of deterioration. The quiet environment was too much for him. He was moved back to his original room. The doctor informed them that with this latest development, it would be at least another month before he could go home.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three weeks and four days later, they were told their little boy was strong enough to go home. Finally, she would be able to rock him for as long as she wanted. She could hold him in her arms all night long. She could watch him sleep in his crib instead of in a plastic box.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She rode in the back seat with him on the ride home from the hospital. Upon arriving home, they were greeted by friends and family. There were balloons and casseroles. Many baby presents were stacked neatly in the corner of his nursery. Everyone was caring and kind, and fussed over little Jeremy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After everyone had gone except for Cindy’s mom, the two women stood side by side watching him sleep soundly in his crib.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He’s beautiful Honey.” Cindy’s mom said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How long does he have to be on the monitor thing?” She asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Until the doctor says otherwise. It alerts us when his heart stops. It stops from time to time. They taught me how to perform CPR on him. The doctor says it’s common with premature babies.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Doesn’t that scare you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, I know he’s going to be fine and the monitor lets me know when there’s a problem. I feel so much better now that he’s safe at home.” Her mom hugged her and kissed her cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later that evening, Jeremy’s monitor sounded. Cindy rushed to him and used two fingers to press on his chest, just like the doctor had shown her. Soon the monitor signaled that all was well. She decided to sleep on the floor in the nursery so she could be close to him. About 3:00 AM his monitor sounded again. She again used two fingers on his chest, but this time the monitor did not signal that his heart was beating again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Scott! Help me!” she yelled from the nursery. Scott rushed in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What’s wrong?” He was half asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m doing CPR but his heart isn’t beating on its own.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Let’s get him in the car and go to the Children’s emergency room. We will be able to get there faster than an ambulance can get here.” He helped her get the monitor while she carried the baby in her arms and continued the CPR compressions. His lips were beginning to turn blue. Tears filled her eyes, but she never gave up the rhythm on his chest. She sat in the back seat of the car with Jeremy in her arms continuing the compressions while Scott drove to the emergency room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When they arrived, Scott ran inside for help. He returned to the car with several staff who took Jeremy from her and rushed him into an exam room. Code Blue was called on the overhead. Scott and Cindy were told they could not go into the exam room and a nurse ushered them down the hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They need room to work. There’s a small waiting room right here. Let me show you.” The nurse was compassionate and kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can I get either of you anything? Water? Coffee?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, thank you.” Scott answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Please tell the doctors where we are and that we want to know what’s going on.” Cindy’s voice was shaky as she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not to worry, I’ll make certain the doctor comes to see you as soon as he can.” She left the room quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy held her hands together just under her chin and silently rocked back and forth in her chair. Tears streamed down her face. Scott could not sit. He stood and paced back and forth. They could hear people rushing up and down the hallway, but no one had come in to talk to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How long before they tell us something?” Cindy demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I don’t know. I wish someone would come in here and say something; anything.” Scott replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They had been in the small waiting room for nearly an hour when the doctor and a nurse came in. The doctor walked over and sat next to Cindy. Scott sat down in the chair on the other side of her. The nurse lingered near where Scott was sitting.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well? What is going on with my baby?” Cindy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In a calm, soft tone the doctor said, “I’m sorry. We did all we could. I’m truly sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scott slid from the chair to his knees, burying his face in his hands. “No. Oh please no, this can’t be happening.” The nurse kneeled on the floor next to him and tried her best to console him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cindy broke her silence with a scream that could be heard through all of the Emergency Department</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 13pt;">The loss of a child is devastating. Would you survive the pain and heartache?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 13pt;">So, Whatcha Think?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lynda Naranjo lost her son, Johnny Giovanni, in March of 2009. She survives by pouring her emotion into her work creating memorials for other mothers who have lost their children.&nbsp; Her website; Angel Baby Memorials, is designed for families enduring the tragic loss of a child.&nbsp; If you have lost a child, let her help you memorialize your Angel Baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: #002060; font-size: 12pt;">Angel Baby Memorials<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><b><span style="color: #002060; font-size: 12pt;">Visit the website at<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://angelbabymemorials.blogspot.com/">http://angelbabymemorials.blogspot.com/</a></span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">We hope you enjoy the chapter. &nbsp;It is our hope that the chapter will bring to light how precious our children are. &nbsp;Hug your children and tell them you love them often.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and by email. &nbsp; You can also sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading!</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooke Ryter</span></div></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-63295781429283457182012-07-10T09:54:00.000-07:002012-07-10T09:54:23.271-07:00Beta Readers<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wrp5Z4syBAE/T_xdV_xfm0I/AAAAAAAAAvY/8eHnDfa9cpI/s1600/Beta+Reader+Edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wrp5Z4syBAE/T_xdV_xfm0I/AAAAAAAAAvY/8eHnDfa9cpI/s640/Beta+Reader+Edit.jpg" width="580" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Beta Readers - what are they and why do I want (need) them?</span><br /><b><u><span style="background-color: white;"><br />What They Are?</span></u></b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /><br />According to Wikipedia,<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><i>a Beta Reader is someone&nbsp;who reads a written work, generally&nbsp;fiction, with what has been described&nbsp;as "acritical eye, with the aim of improving&nbsp;grammar,&nbsp;spelling,&nbsp;characterization, and general style of a story prior to its release to the general public."<br /></i><br /><i>The&nbsp;author&nbsp;or&nbsp;writer, who can be referred to as the&nbsp;alpha reader, may use several "betas" prior to publication. The term "beta" is an appropriation from the software&nbsp;industry which uses the terms "alpha" and "beta" for software that are internal works in progress and publicly released tests, respectively (though a "beta" version may still be tested internally). While the use of the concept and the term is most common among&nbsp;fan fiction&nbsp;writers, it is growing in popularity with novelists, to the point where some have thanked their beta readers (sometimes even referring to them as such) in their acknowledgments. A beta reader, who may or may not be known to the author, can serve as&nbsp;proofreader&nbsp;of&nbsp;spelling&nbsp;and&nbsp;grammar&nbsp;errors or as a traditional&nbsp;editor, working on the "flow" of prose. In fiction, the beta might highlight&nbsp;plot holes&nbsp;or problems with&nbsp;continuity,&nbsp;characterisation&nbsp;or believability; in fiction and&nbsp;non-fiction, the beta might also assist the author with&nbsp;fact-checking.<br /></i><br /><i>Other types of writing groups have been known to use the French term,&nbsp;critiquer&nbsp;or the abbreviated, informal version,&nbsp;critter&nbsp;in the same context as beta reader.<br /></i><b><u><br />Why Do I Want (Need) Them?<br /></u></b><br />To me, the Beta Readers are invaluable. &nbsp;Each one of them critique and comment differently. &nbsp;Each gives me different depth and comments on the written work. &nbsp;Each one is bold enough to say things like "this part needs help" or "there is a hole here" or "try this instead of that" or "add more imagery here" or "the flow is good, the&nbsp;characters&nbsp;are fine, but add another paragraph here with more detail" etc., etc. &nbsp;One Beta Reader sent me back one of my chapters with the statement "this chapters SUCKS! &nbsp;Try it again." &nbsp;This is what I need and want from them.<br /><br />What I don't need is the written work coming back with just one or two small comments along with the statement "the story is great!". &nbsp;I need them to shred and tear it up and to give me their honest and brutal take on the work.<br /><br />I take all of their comments and address each one. &nbsp;I meld together what works and take out what doesn't, while staying true to my own judgement and the path I want the work to follow.<br /><br />What I end up with is the story that lived in my mind and I was trying to get onto paper. &nbsp;When reading ones own writing, many things are missed. &nbsp;With the Beta Readers, I miss less and my writing is better because of their comments.<br /><br />I can't say enough wonderful things about my Beta Readers.<br /><br />All I can do is hope they know how much I appreciate their help, efforts, and honesty.<br /><br /><b>You guys are the BEST!!</b><br /><br />Thank you!<br /><br />Brooke</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-13550937905794339892012-07-05T16:00:00.000-07:002012-07-11T10:36:53.181-07:00Chapter 1<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JVBQ0h7cJlo/T_X1dF_O-JI/AAAAAAAAAvM/A2Tm7CYB4PM/s1600/So..free+download+reformat_Page_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JVBQ0h7cJlo/T_X1dF_O-JI/AAAAAAAAAvM/A2Tm7CYB4PM/s400/So..free+download+reformat_Page_01.jpg" width="271" /></a></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><i><br /></i></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Chapter 1 Cover</b></span></i></div><i><span style="color: blue;">(There will be 5 chapters released prior to the books publish date. &nbsp;This is the first of those chapter releases. &nbsp;Each chapter release will have a different cover. &nbsp;After the last release, all covers will be posted along with a poll on my <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a> for the reader's vote. &nbsp;The cover with the most votes will become the cover of the book when published. &nbsp;An Adobe PDF file of this chapter is available for download and saving at my&nbsp;</span></i><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>.</span></i><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">)</span></i><br /><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><br /></div><div class="CSP-ChapterTitle"><b><span style="color: purple;">It Won’t Be You I Hurt</span><o:p></o:p></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She packs up quickly so she can get out the front door of her office building right at 5:00 o’clock. She has to get home before he does. Every day is a challenge to get home first. Traffic seems to be getting heavier and the stoplights longer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She walks briskly to her car, throws her briefcase and purse across the front</span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> seat, and slides in with her keys already in her hand. After she leaves the parking lot, she is caught at a red light at the first intersection she encounters. Her fingers tap the steering wheel nervously as she bites at the fingernails of her other hand. The light finally turns green after what seems like a lifetime.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The on-ramp to the freeway is backed up. She&nbsp;gauges, would it be quicker to take the surface streets? Maybe the freeway? Surface streets? Freeway? Traffic starts moving again so she decides to take the freeway. It&nbsp;doesn’t take long before she realizes that maybe the freeway was a bad decision. All she can see is a sea of tail lights and traffic is barely moving. There must be an accident up ahead and the next off-ramp is at least a mile away. She is trapped.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Panic sets in and her hands start to shake. She&nbsp;begins talking to herself, “Maybe he will get stuck in traffic. Maybe this will clear up in just a second. Maybe he won’t get home first. Please, please, please let me arrive home first!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She finally makes it to her neighborhood, turns down her street, and she sees what she fears the most. Her heart skips a beat and her breath is caught in her throat. Her shoulders sink and tears begin to blur her vision. His truck is in the driveway. Every day he gets off work at 4:30 and picks up the boys from daycare on his way home, but today he made it home first. About a year ago, he informed her that he had replaced her name with his mother’s name on the authorized child pick up list at the daycare. His words were, “You are a horrible mother to my boys so I did what I felt was in the best interest of the boys and changed the form. I am sure you agree, right?” She knew he had been baiting her for a fight. What was in her best interest was to happily agree, which she did.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As she pulls into the driveway she tries to take a deep breath, but she just can’t. Her ribs won’t expand. As if being squeezed by an unseen force, she can breathe no deeper than small, short breaths. She tries to steady her nerves as she puts the car in park and turns off the engine. She looks at her face in the rearview mirror and tries to stop the tears and put on a calm face. It isn’t working.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She gets out of her car and walks toward the front door. She pauses for a moment with her hand outstretched; hovering above the doorknob with her hand shaking. She wants to run. To hide in any shadow or crevasse she can find, but her babies are inside the house with him. There is no way she could leave without them and she knows there is no way she can leave with them. He would kill her. She manages to take a deep breath, wraps her fingers around the cold doorknob, turns it slowly, and opens the door. He is standing on the other side of the couch to be sure she could see him when she walks inside the door. He is waiting for her. His face is twisted with anger. He is a large man with an ominous presence. Anyone who has met him has the impression of a charming, pleasant, friendly, even a fun-loving man. No one but she sees the mean, ugly side of him. A side that terrifies her, haunts her dreams, and threatens to end her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He takes several quick strides toward her and screams, “Where have you been bitch!?! Who have you been with!?! Who is it that makes you late getting home every single day!?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She tries to answer but she is only able to get out, “I&nbsp;am only five minutes”, before he&nbsp;shoves her up against the wall. His hand is around her neck and he is squeezing hard enough to make it difficult for her to breathe, but not hard enough to leave any marks. He has perfected not leaving marks. She can feel his hot breath on her face as he whispers through clenched teeth, “I&nbsp;am so sick of you. I&nbsp;am so tired of you disrespecting me. I don’t know why I&nbsp;don’t just get rid of you. You keep pushing me and pushing me. If I ever catch you so much as talking to another guy…I swear to God, you will pay!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He presses her harder against the wall. His eyes are wide and crazed. She tries to speak but her words are blocked by his tight grip. She mouths, “Please. I love you. Please, I will never disrespect you again.” Her eyes begin to fill with tears and she tries to stop them. He hates tears. He feels they are an act and they make him so angry. She can’t help the tears though. It breaks her heart that he constantly accuses her of being unfaithful. She has never cheated on him, never wanted to. She rarely talks to any man, regardless of whether they are a stranger or a co-worker. She has never given him a reason to doubt her faithfulness, but he has been obsessed with believing otherwise for years now.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Out of the corner of her eye she can see her two little boys standing in the hallway. They are staring, watching, learning. Learning from Dad how a dad and husband is supposed to behave. She knows they are being affected by this. She worries about them. She doesn’t want them to grow up watching this or to grow up to be like him. She&nbsp;doesn’t want them to live this way. She doesn’t know what to do. She&nbsp;manages to whisper, “the boys.” He lets go and starts to walk away. She tries to catch her breath while trying not to breathe heavily. She knows that if he hears her breathing heavily it would spark another fit of anger.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He walks to just in front of the boys and stops. Looking&nbsp;down at them he says, “Your mother is a cheating &nbsp;bitch! Neither of you had better grow up to be anything like her.” He turns around and faces her. She hasn’t moved. She is standing straight and trying to look calm.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He says to her, “You better watch yourself, keep your mouth shut, and behave. If&nbsp;you don’t, I promise you, it won’t be you I hurt.” His eyes dart towards the boys without his head moving. She&nbsp;understands very well what he means but prays the boys at 4 and 6 years old are too young to understand.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He stomps off towards the living room yelling, “Make me some dinner, bitch!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Her boys run to her. They hug her legs and the youngest whispers, “I love you Mommy and I hate Daddy.” The&nbsp;oldest is holding on to her tightly. She sends them off to play in their room so their Dad won’t see them hugging her.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She knows they are afraid. Her heart breaks for them but she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t see any way to get them out of this. He controls all the money. He watches her every move. She called the shelters and they are all full and they informed her that unless she can prove he has harmed the boys, they cannot legally hide them from their father. She can’t prove a thing. There is no proof. All she has is her word against his. She has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. If she leaves, where would she hide? There is no doubt that he would come after her. He would hurt her; hurt her little boys. Her daily prayer is always the same, “Please God! Please help me! I&nbsp;don’t know what to do.” She makes her way to the kitchen and begins dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">During dinner, he put his hand on her forearm, “I’m sorry for getting so mad. My boss has been really hard on me lately and that is why I get so angry. Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night. I want to make it up to you for getting angry. What do you say?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What could she say besides yes? If she said no, that would make him angry. She wasn’t sure which she hated most, his anger and abuse or his attempts to do something nice to make up for his anger and abuse. It was a cycle that goes round and round. When he is in the nice part of the cycle, it only reminds her of how much she misses the man he used to be. At least when he is in the angry part of the cycle, she doesn’t miss him anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After the dinner dishes are done, she begins her evening chores. She keeps busy cleaning, doing laundry, and other duties so she doesn’t have to be in the living room with him. Watching TV with him is something she doesn’t do anymore. They were watching TV the first time she saw his ugly side.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They were watching the news. She can’t remember what story the reporter was talking about, but she commented on it. He said that he disagreed and stated his opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">&nbsp;“Well, that’s ok, we can just agree to disagree.” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Before her mind could process that he had stood up, he was standing over her. He had a fistful of her hair in each of his large hands. He lifted her up by her hair. There were several inches of clearance between her body and the couch cushion beneath her before she began to feel the intense pain of her hair being used to suspend her above the couch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“You are my wife! A wife NEVER has a different opinion than her husband! My opinion is your opinion! Got it!?!” he growled<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She was terrified. It was surreal. She had never seen behavior like this from him. She was confused and scared.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“GOT IT!?!” he yelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I, I got it,” she said almost inaudibly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Suddenly, he released his grip on her hair and she dropped to the couch. He returned to his seat at the other end of the couch as if nothing had happened. She didn’t say another word, didn’t make a sound. She just sat there terrified, staring at the TV.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That was nearly three years ago. In the time that passed, she learned what triggers him. What to say and what not to say. When to say “I love you” to calm him even though she doesn’t mean those words anymore. The love she had for him is gone She has come to realize that the man she married, the man she loved so much no longer exists. The man she lives with, who looks just like the man she fell in love with, is a cruel, mean, hateful, heartless man. The love she had for him has long since been replaced with fear, resentment, hate, and anger. Anger for the way he makes her feel worthless, ugly, and that she would be better off dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She has days where she feels that death would be a blessing. She ponders the idea of death. There are days when she feels death is the only path available for her to get away from him. The questions linger; how long before she must take that path? What will happen to her babies when she takes that path? Will that path come at her own hand or at his? The thought of her boys is the only thing that keeps her dancing this dance every day. Her life has become this careful dance. A dance of purposeful movements and steps he expects. She understands her dance and she performs it well. She must perform it well, as the consequences are frightening and painful.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Every night for more than two years now, she has locked the bathroom door when she showers before bed. The first time he noticed that the door was locked, he was extremely angry. She explained to him that she had to lock the door because she didn’t want the boys to walk in the bathroom while she was in the shower. The locking of the door was to keep them out, not to keep him out. His reply, “That’s a good idea. Don’t want to screw up their entire adult lives. Don’t want them thinking all women are as ugly as you are naked.” Those words should have hurt, but they didn’t. It meant she would have 15 or 20 minutes of peace every day. It is the only time she feels safe. She is able to stand under the hot water and cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tonight she is crying so hard that she can barely breathe. She backs into the corner of the shower and tries to steady herself. Her knees fold and she slides down the wet tile wall until she is sitting on the floor of the shower sobbing. She wraps her arms around her legs and buries her face between her knees. She feels so alone and lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“How did I end up in this mess? How did this happen? I must be a horrible person to deserve this. Why did I bring children into this? Oh my God, what am I going to do? I can’t live like this forever. Fourteen years before the youngest turns 18 years old. I can’t do this for 14 years. I won’t survive that long.” Her desperation felt overwhelming.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Usually he is already in bed asleep when she is finished with her shower. Tonight, instead of going straight to bed, wrapped in her robe she wanders into the living room. As she stands there in the dark, looking around at the pleasant furnishings, she thinks about how this should be a happy place. There should be laughter and love in this room. Instead there are intimidation and fear. She walks to the window and slightly pulls back the curtain. She can see the stars shining brightly. It was a clear night with just a sliver of a moon. She looks up at the stars. When she was a child, she would wish for a pony or a trip to the amusement park. Now she wishes to survive long enough to watch her children grow up. She stands there for a long time wishing upon a star.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She goes back into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stands before the bathroom mirror. Her eyes look haunted and dark circles are beginning to form.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Well, that was a good cry.” she talks to the gaunt woman looking back at her from the mirror. “You can do this. Tomorrow is another day. Everything will be fine. You just need to be nicer to him. Stop making him angry. Things will be just fine, you’ll see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After she has brushed her teeth, she climbs very cautiously into the bed. She must not wake him. If she wakes him he will want to have sex. She finds his touch to be nearly unbearable, but when it happens she puts on the expected act so he doesn’t get angry. The dance must be danced to perfection. He doesn’t stir.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She lies still, staring at the ceiling. She wishes she could leave, but she can’t. She has no money, nowhere to go. She needs to devise a way to make this life better. She is determined to find away to make him a happier man.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I can deal with this, I know I can. He only picks on me. He doesn’t pick on the boys. I can take it! I can! When his job gets better, he will be in a better mood.&nbsp; Things will be fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She rolls to her side and relaxes. She can go to sleep without having to be intimate with him, or fear that he will be upset with her for waking him, and she has once again found strength for another day. She feels a little at peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The next day, she gets up and goes to work. Then 5:00 o’clock comes, and the race to get home first begins again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Would you find it easy to stay and live every day a nightmare?&nbsp; How can she get away?&nbsp; What can she do?&nbsp; Can she protect her children?&nbsp; What options are there?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 13pt;">So, Whatcha Think?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">If you or someone you know needs help getting away from domestic violence, please contact:</span></div><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: #002060; font-size: 12pt;">National Domestic Violence Hotline at <b>1−800−799−SAFE(7233) </b>or <b>TTY 1−800−787−3224<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><b><span style="color: #002060; font-size: 12pt;">Or visit their website at<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.thehotline.org/">http://www.thehotline.org/</a></span><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">We hope you enjoy the chapter. &nbsp;It is our hope that the chapter will bring to light a social issue that is rarely spoken of and is&nbsp;notoriously&nbsp;ignored.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Keep in mind as you read the chapter, male or female, this could be you.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and by email. &nbsp; You can also sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading!</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooke Ryter</span></div></div><div class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><br /></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-81536992501953558712012-07-05T10:53:00.000-07:002012-07-05T14:57:14.383-07:00I Received Constructive Criticism...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">...regarding the FREE First Chapter Download. &nbsp;I pondered and the commenter makes a point.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://officeimg.vo.msecnd.net/en-us/images/MH910220869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://officeimg.vo.msecnd.net/en-us/images/MH910220869.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">The first Chapter Download was released as a PDF file on June 15th on my </span><a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">Author Website</a><span style="background-color: white;">. &nbsp;When the reader clicks on the Download button, the file opens in their</span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white;"> browser. &nbsp;The file format also allows for saving to a storage device, such as a hard drive, zip drive, etc., for later reading. &nbsp;On the same page as the Download button I have placed instructions for where to go to download the free Adobe PDF reader from Adobe, if needed.</span><br /><br />The PDF file and the free reader from Adobe are free of bugs and viruses. &nbsp;Let's face it, I wouldn't expect to sell many copies of the book when it is published in December if I release FREE Chapter Downloads that are infected. &nbsp;But, the fear is still present and may be hindering people from downloading and reading the chapter.<br /><br />So, to do my best to&nbsp;alleviate&nbsp;fears regarding the downloading of the chapters, I will be posting the full text of the chapter on this blog and on my website. &nbsp;The PDF files will still be made available for download and saving for those readers who would prefer that route.<br /><br />The commenter also stated that they liked the layout of my&nbsp;<a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>&nbsp;but couldn't find their way back to the FREE First Chapter Download page after clicking and reading the other pages on my site. &nbsp;They stated that they would have kept the site much simpler. &nbsp;I find this statement a bit peculiar as there is a site menu list across the top of every page and the FREE First Chapter Download can be found under the tab 'First Chapter'. &nbsp;Simply clicking on that menu option takes your directly back to the FREE First Chapter Download. &nbsp;Although I understand the logic and&nbsp;usefulness&nbsp;of simplicity, I also understand the careful balance of organization of information and properly sized&nbsp;snippets. &nbsp;To much information on one page would&nbsp;overwhelm&nbsp;most people. &nbsp;Simplicity would work on my site if this book were my only work in progress, but it is not. &nbsp;My works in progress include two full novels and a children's book series, advice for writers, story prompts, and a writer's community webpage. &nbsp;All this information packed into a smaller format would boggle the mind.<br /><br />It is through comments that I learn how you, the reader, perceives this blog and my website. &nbsp;Through the comments I learn and adjust what I need to in order for your experience in both places to be as easy and user friendly as possible. &nbsp;Please continue to comment and tell me Whatcha Think. &nbsp;If you don't tell me, I have no way of knowing.<br /><br />I will be posting the full text of the First Chapter on this blog and on my&nbsp;<a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>&nbsp;later today. &nbsp;The next chapter will be released on July 20th.<br /><br />At the top of the right side-bar is a place where you can subscribe to this blog via email. &nbsp;This subscription will deliver the blog posts to your email inbox.<br /><br />Check out my&nbsp;<a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Author Website</a>&nbsp;if you haven't already. &nbsp;You can also connect with me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/So-Whatcha-Think/227979127252815" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/brookeryter" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/117254712459648576224/posts" target="_blank">Google+</a>, and by <a href="mailto:sowhatchathink@live.com" target="_blank">email</a>.<br /><br />Thanks for reading!<br /><br />BrookeBrooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-26870745322544988742012-07-03T15:59:00.000-07:002012-07-03T15:59:42.717-07:00I Want This Room!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Some day when I am fich and ramous (because I will never be rich and famous) I am going to have one of these rooms built in my house!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://simonbrownphotography.com/images/Personal/LibrarySecretDoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://simonbrownphotography.com/images/Personal/LibrarySecretDoor.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Doesn't this look like a lovely place to spend the afternoon...every afternoon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Shhh...don't&nbsp;interrupt&nbsp;my daydreaming. &nbsp;=)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Have a great 4th of July!!</div><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-23492036855228750302012-07-02T12:32:00.000-07:002012-07-05T14:56:45.178-07:00How Many of These 100 Books Have YOU Read?On LibraryThing.com this morning and found this and I found it to be interesting...and...it made me wonder the same thing about you.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.librarything.com/topic/61828/" target="_blank">How Many of These 100 Books Have YOU Read?</a><br /><br />Comment with your answer.<br /><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen</span></span><br />2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien<br />3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte<br /><a name='more'></a><br />4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling<br />5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee<br />6 The Bible<br />7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte<br />8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell<br />9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman<br />10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens<br />11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott<br />12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy<br />13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller<br />14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - read some, but not others...<br />15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier<br />16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien<br />17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk<br />18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger<br />19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger<br />20 Middlemarch - George Eliot<br />21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell<br />22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald<br />23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens<br />24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy<br />25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams<br />26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh<br />27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck<br />29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll<br />30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame<br />31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy<br />32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens<br />33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis<br />34 Emma - Jane Austen<br />35 Persuasion - Jane Austen<br />36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini<br />38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres<br />39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden<br />40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne<br />41 Animal Farm - George Orwell<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown<br />43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez<br />44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving<br />45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery<br />47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy.<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood<br />49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding<br />50 Atonement - Ian McEwan<br />51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel<br />52 Dune - Frank Herbert<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons<br />54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth.<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon<br />57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens<br />58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley<br />59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon<br />60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez<br />61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck<br />62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov<br />63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt<br />64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas<br />66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac<br />67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy<br />68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding<br />69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie<br />70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens<br />72 Dracula - Bram Stoker<br />73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett<br />74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson<br />75 Ulysses - James Joyce<br />76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath<br />77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />78 Germinal - Emile Zola<br />79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray<br />80 Possession - AS Byatt.<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens<br />82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell<br />83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker<br />84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro<br />85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert<br />86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry<br />87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White<br />88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom<br />89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton<br />91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad<br />92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks<br />94 Watership Down - Richard Adams<br />95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole<br />96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute<br />97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas<br />98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><br />99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl<br />100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space">I have read 21 of the books listed...how about you? &nbsp;How many have you read?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space">Happy reading!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space">Brooke</span></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-75087601411201893422012-06-29T17:59:00.000-07:002012-07-05T14:56:17.617-07:00My Life Right Now<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bYRlXr7k4LE/T-5PBTleC3I/AAAAAAAAAvA/A-KA3HdC10I/s1600/P1050008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bYRlXr7k4LE/T-5PBTleC3I/AAAAAAAAAvA/A-KA3HdC10I/s320/P1050008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sierra, the Wonder Dog!<br />(When this pic was taken she was only 7 months old...that's right, I said 7 months!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I work full time. &nbsp;I am training (trying to anyway) a 10 month old Weimaraner (who weighs about 60 pounds) the basics. &nbsp;You know, sit, stay, down, STOP JUMPING<br /><a name='more'></a> ON ME! &nbsp;I am in the final stretches of rewrites, edits, formatting, and crossing of my fingers for the publishing of our book&nbsp;<i>So, Whatcha Think. </i>It is camping season and I just can't seem to say NO any time someone says..."Hey, wanna go camping this weekend?" &nbsp;Instead I hear my own voice coming out of my own mouth saying, "Heck yeah!" &nbsp;All the while, my brain is screaming, "You have tons of other things you need to get done!" &nbsp;(What? &nbsp;I didn't hear anything!)<br /><br />One of the things I haven't gotten done for too long, is post to this blog. &nbsp;So here is sit, at my work computer, after hours, typing a blog post to send out to the abyss. &nbsp;Why? &nbsp;Because I miss you guys, that's why?<br /><br />I love the comments and the shared laughter we have.<br /><br />I know this post isn't a long one, but it comes from my heart. &nbsp;I miss you guys!!<br /><br />I will type more next week...promise!!<br /><br />I need to finish up a work related item, head to the grocery store to pick up a few things because we are headed out at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow morning to go camping. &nbsp;Yeah, I failed to say NO yet again. &nbsp;=)<br /><br />Leave me your thoughts and we will chat again next week.<br /><br />Have a fantabulous weekend!!<br /><br />Thanks for reading,<br /><br />Brooke<br /><br /><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-54126374065589607952012-06-15T15:49:00.000-07:002012-07-05T14:55:33.917-07:00FREE Chapter Download<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.weebly.com/uploads/1/0/7/6/10767280/300447171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.weebly.com/uploads/1/0/7/6/10767280/300447171.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><br />The FREE Chapter download is available for your downloading and reading pleasure. &nbsp;Go to <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Brooke Ryter's Author Website</a>&nbsp;to download the file.</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Click on the&nbsp;</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; position: relative; text-align: left;"><strong>Click Here to Download Chapter.&nbsp;</strong></em><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">The file is an Adobe PDF. &nbsp;If you do not </span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">have Adobe Reader,&nbsp;</span><a href="http://get.adobe.com/reader/" style="background-color: white; color: #307c2e; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Links active once published"><strong>HERE</strong></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">&nbsp;is the link that will take you to the Adobe Reader download site. &nbsp;Adobe Reader is free.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;" /><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">We hope you enjoy the chapter. &nbsp;It is our hope that the chapter will bring to light a social issue that is rarely spoken of and is&nbsp;notoriously&nbsp;ignored.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Keep in mind as you read the chapter, male or female, this could be you.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Comment on the website with your opinions and thoughts on the chapter and the subject matter.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Thanks for reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Brooke and Paige</span>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-88238236261979484502012-06-07T15:49:00.001-07:002012-07-05T14:58:37.949-07:00FREE First Chapter Download (Oh, the fear!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rANIFQ1LBd4/T9EvhRzV4jI/AAAAAAAAAs4/2LDlXUxto4g/s1600/file0001490893047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rANIFQ1LBd4/T9EvhRzV4jI/AAAAAAAAAs4/2LDlXUxto4g/s320/file0001490893047.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><br />On June 15th, the first chapter of this book will be available for FREE download. &nbsp;Although I am excited, I am also petrified. &nbsp;This will be the first public release of any part of the book. &nbsp;There is fear of how it will be received, will readers like it, will they hate it, will the chapter do what it is intended to do; create a conversation among the<br /><a name='more'></a> readers.<br /><br /><br />The stories in the book are written to take the reader on a journey, an emotional path if you will. &nbsp;Some of the stories contain&nbsp;controversial&nbsp;topics that deserve attention. &nbsp;Some stories are written in a way to create a love/hate relationship with the main&nbsp;character. &nbsp;Some stories will cause the reader to reflect on their own life.<br /><br />Every story written for this book has a tidbit of real life tucked in it somewhere. &nbsp;Each story has a truth that exists in my life or in my sister's life. &nbsp;Each story is a part of us. &nbsp;The release of the first chapter is bit like turning loose of your 5 year old's hand on the first day of Kindergarten. &nbsp;I hope she has a great day, makes new friends, and doesn't fall flat on her face on the playground (fingers crossed).<br /><br />The process of writing this book has been a joy and has many times felt like climbing a ladder that seems to go on forever. &nbsp;As we near the end of the journey, we can see the platform at the top of the ladder. &nbsp;Now we have to gather the courage to step onto the platform and let our work stand on its own. <br /><br />I am sure as the 15th gets closer my hands will begin to tremble a bit more than they are already.<br /><br />The chapter will be available at <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/" target="_blank">my website</a>. &nbsp;If you would like to be notified/reminded by email on the 15th, go to the website now and sign up through the Notification Form. &nbsp;While you are there, check out all the pages on the website, hopefully you will find something that interests you.<br /><br />Thanks for reading.<br /><br />Brooke<br /><br />Other posts you may enjoy.<br /><br /><a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2012/01/why-didnt-you-tell-me-about-him.html" target="_blank">Why Didn't You Tell Me About Him?</a><br /><a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2011/10/home-is-where-heart-is.html" target="_blank">Home is Where the Heart Is</a><br /><a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2011/09/sisters-by-chance-friends-by-choice.html" target="_blank">Sisters by Chance, Friends by Choice</a><br /><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-18963155886409210452012-05-31T13:20:00.000-07:002012-05-31T14:52:41.842-07:00Versatile Blogger Award<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://versatilebloggeraward.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/versatileblogger111.png?w=620" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://versatilebloggeraward.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/versatileblogger111.png?w=620" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Recently I was honored (and I truly mean honored) by <a href="http://jenniferjchow.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">JenniferChow</a>.&nbsp; She kindly nominated me for the <a href="http://versatilebloggeraward.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Versatile Blogger Award</span></a>.&nbsp; (sniff, sniff, tear)&nbsp; Thank you Jennifer very much.&nbsp; Visit her <a href="http://jenniferjchow.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> and show her some love.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">According to the rules, I must<br /><a name='more'></a>list 15 blogs worth discovering and reveal 7 things about myself.&nbsp; So please check out the following valuable blogs.&nbsp; You can learn more about me at the end of this post.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://beverlystowemcclure.wordpress.com/">http://beverlystowemcclure.wordpress.com/</a>Beverly Stowe&nbsp;McClure</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://larabritt.com/">http://larabritt.com/</a> Lara Britt</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://acmeauthorslink.blogspot.com/">http://acmeauthorslink.blogspot.com/</a>Get writing, networking, and everyday tips from the Masters - Debra St. John, June Sproat, Terri Stone, Morgan Mandel, DL Larson, Rob Walker, Margot Justes and Christine Verstraete.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://writersandauthors.blogspot.com/">http://writersandauthors.blogspot.com/</a>Jo Linsdell</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://dirtygirlswriting.blogspot.com/">http://dirtygirlswriting.blogspot.com/</a>Lauri Meyers </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://veronicaroth.com/">http://veronicaroth.com/</a> Veronica Roth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.kellyannwilliamson.blogspot.com/">http://www.kellyannwilliamson.blogspot.com/</a>Kelly Williamson</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://sorrygnat.wordpress.com/">http://sorrygnat.wordpress.com/</a>Esther Bradley-DeTally</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://melodypearson.com/">http://melodypearson.com/</a>Melody Pearson (April Galloway)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.kharahouse.com/">http://www.kharahouse.com/</a>Khara House</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://jennymherrera.wordpress.com/">http://jennymherrera.wordpress.com/</a>Jenny Herrera</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://fairfieldwriter.wordpress.com/">http://fairfieldwriter.wordpress.com/</a>Fairfield Writer’s Blog</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://kimkasch.blogspot.com/">http://kimkasch.blogspot.com/</a>Kim Kasch</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://www.onetrailingspouse.com/">http://www.onetrailingspouse.com/</a>Emily Mcgee<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #272a2b; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="http://phoenix-em.com/mariyakoleva/">http://phoenix-em.com/mariyakoleva/</a>Mariya Koleva</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Now to reveal 7 things about myself.<br /><br />1, I have raced a quarter midget racecar (and loved it!).<br />2, I love to fish.<br />3, I wear baseball caps every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (dress code at work will not allow me to wear them the rest of the week).<br />4, I have a No Drama rule at my house.&nbsp; You bring drama you DO NOT cross my doorway.<br />5, I have five grandchildren and one more on the way (already nicknamed Bean).<br />6, I refuse to act my age and I refuse to grow up (life is more fun this way).<br />7, I have trained Service Dogs for the hearing impaired.<br /><br />And one more, just because.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">8, I have a no internet access rule on the weekends because that is my time with my family.<br /><br />Thanks for reading and THANKS AGAIN JENNIFER!!<br /><br />Brooke Ryter</div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-84910545020971010262012-05-31T10:44:00.000-07:002012-05-31T13:22:02.610-07:00Writer's Corner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.weebly.com/uploads/1/0/7/6/10767280/575181004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.weebly.com/uploads/1/0/7/6/10767280/575181004.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />Through the research I have done for the publishing of my book, I have gathered TONS of information about self publishing and writing tips and tricks I have found useful in the writerly process.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Keeping this information tucked in my reference binder for only my eyes seems a bit selfish. &nbsp;I don't want to be a selfish clod, so I am posting the information in the <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/writers-corner.html" target="_blank">Writer's Corner</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will add <br /><a name='more'></a>one or two new posts every weekday. &nbsp;There is an email subscription option at the <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/writers-corner.html" target="_blank">Writer's Corner</a>. &nbsp;The email subscription will make it easy for you to receive the new posts in your inbox.<br /><br />I will also be creating a page that will contain a mixture of picture and word story prompts that will be added to every weekday. &nbsp;I will post an announcement in the <a href="http://www.brookeryter.weebly.com/writers-corner.html" target="_blank">Writer's Corner</a> when that page is up and running.</div><div><br /></div><div>Take a few moments to visit the Writer's Corner and&nbsp;peruse&nbsp;the information already there and sign up for the email subscription.<br /><br /><br />You can connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and Google+. &nbsp; You can also sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.<br /><br />Thanks for reading!<br /><br />Brooke Ryter</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-46096375976568692772012-05-25T16:30:00.000-07:002012-05-31T13:21:37.316-07:00Fifty Shades of Grey…The Critics, The Reviews, The Readers, The Success<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/5/5e/50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/5/5e/50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People either LOVE this book or they HATE this book.&nbsp; According to </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/dp/0345803485" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Amazon’s</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> star ratings at the time this was typed, the book had 1,963 5-stars and 1,309 1-star and the combined total of &nbsp;2- through 4-stars was 1,158.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/dp/0345803485">4,430 Reviews</a></span></b><br /><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="1" class="MsoNormalTable" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr> <td nowrap="" style="padding: 0in 6.0pt .75pt 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/product-reviews/0345803485/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_5?ie=UTF8&amp;filterBy=addFiveStar&amp;showViewpoints=0"><span style="color: #996633;">5 star</span></a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> <td style="background-color: #eeeecc; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; padding: 0in; text-align: center; width: 45pt;" width="60"></td> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;(1,963)<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr><tr> <td nowrap="" style="padding: 0in 6.0pt .75pt 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/product-reviews/0345803485/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_4?ie=UTF8&amp;filterBy=addFourStar&amp;showViewpoints=0"><span style="color: #996633;">4 star</span></a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> <td style="background-color: #eeeecc; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; padding: 0in; text-align: center; width: 45pt;" width="60"></td> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;(464)<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr><tr> <td nowrap="" style="padding: 0in 6.0pt .75pt 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/product-reviews/0345803485/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_3?ie=UTF8&amp;filterBy=addThreeStar&amp;showViewpoints=0"><span style="color: #996633;">3 star</span></a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> <td style="background-color: #eeeecc; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; padding: 0in; text-align: center; width: 45pt;" width="60"></td> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;(312)<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr><tr> <td nowrap="" style="padding: 0in 6.0pt .75pt 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/product-reviews/0345803485/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_2?ie=UTF8&amp;filterBy=addTwoStar&amp;showViewpoints=0"><span style="color: #996633;">2 star</span></a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> <td style="background-color: #eeeecc; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; padding: 0in; text-align: center; width: 45pt;" width="60"></td> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;(382)<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr><tr> <td nowrap="" style="padding: 0in 6.0pt .75pt 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/product-reviews/0345803485/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_1?ie=UTF8&amp;filterBy=addOneStar&amp;showViewpoints=0"><span style="color: #996633;">1 star</span></a>:<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> <td style="background-color: #eeeecc; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; padding: 0in; text-align: center; width: 45pt;" width="60"></td> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&nbsp;(1,309)<o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 10px;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I have read some of the critic reviews </span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">for Fifty Shades of Grey.&nbsp; Many are negative and harsh yet the book has become the bestselling book of 2012.&nbsp; I find this interesting.&nbsp; The reading public obviously likes the content or 10 million copies would not have been sold.&nbsp; If the book has been so well received by readers and has sold that many copies, does that leave one to assume the critics are too critical?&nbsp; Or maybe they are not in touch with what readers consider a good book?&nbsp; It certainly confirms the saying “You can’t believe everything you read.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">According to the </span><a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/jacketcopy/2012/05/50-shades-of-grey-goodreads.html" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Los Angeles Times</a>,<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> the book is most popular in New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Rhode Island, and New York</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.&nbsp; The article states the source of the information is over 8.6 million members of </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">GoodReads.com</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.&nbsp; Shown below is the graphic that appears with the article.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef016305cbc761970d-pi" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/.a/6a00d8341c630a53ef016305cbc761970d-pi" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend of mine purchased the eBook trilogy and can’t put her IPad down.&nbsp; She is almost through the first book and says it is fantastic.&nbsp; She has told me the story is great and it is a relief that it doesn’t contain all the flowery language and unrealistic word usage.&nbsp; “It reads like what I would be saying in my own head.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I feel the success of <a href="http://www.eljamesauthor.com/" target="_blank">E L James</a> with her novel is a shining example of the changes happening in the publishing industry.&nbsp; Indie publishing has become easier to do and a route many authors are choosing to take.&nbsp; They are able to control the content, retain the creative reins, and the time to market is much quicker.&nbsp; The publishing of a novel is no longer bound by an opinion formed from a quick glance that results in a rejection letter.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Writings of an author are intimate thoughts and a path traveled in solitude.&nbsp; Putting pen to paper is a difficult task at times even though a writer enjoys the process.&nbsp; Every novel, poem, haiku, short story, blog post etc. has a piece of the author’s soul hidden within.&nbsp; Yes, we writers are aware that not everyone will like what we write, some may have harsh things to say, but in the end it is the purchasing of our work and the positive feedback we receive that makes all those hours of solitude worth it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Congratulations to <a href="http://www.eljamesauthor.com/" target="_blank">E L James</a> and to the successes of other Indie Published authors.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The publishing industry is changing a breakneck speed and I am ready to hold on for the ride.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading,</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooke Ryter</span><br /><br />Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-66125490053223661482012-05-16T15:55:00.000-07:002012-05-25T16:31:26.789-07:00Women and Children Camping<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nusq4ABay9Q/T7QuxXgYEmI/AAAAAAAAAqk/oAdo_42XXKc/s1600/Women+and+Children+Camping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nusq4ABay9Q/T7QuxXgYEmI/AAAAAAAAAqk/oAdo_42XXKc/s400/Women+and+Children+Camping.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Circle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">There is the saying; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sterling-Girlfriends-Sisters-Ourselves-Two-Piece/dp/B0040EII4W">Girlfriends are sisters we choose for ourselves</a>.&nbsp; Which is true in my life. &nbsp;There is the saying; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sisters-Chance-Sterling-Silver-Necklace/dp/B005MQ6236">Sisters by Chance, Friends by Choice</a>.&nbsp; Which is also true in my life.<br /><br /><b><i><a href="http://www.boardofwisdom.com/default.asp?topic=1005&amp;listname=friendship">There comes a point in your life when you realize who really matters, who never did, and who always will.</a></i></b> -&nbsp;<span style="color: #003333; text-decoration: none;">Unknown</span><br /><br />I came to that point of realizing who matters and who doesn’t.&nbsp; I got rid of the riff raff and </span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">kept those worth keeping.&nbsp; I have an amazing group of friends and an amazing sister, who is also a wonderful friend.&nbsp; We all know that we can lean on each other, be ourselves with each other, and we support each other.<br /><br />One weekend a year, <a href="http://swthink.blogspot.com/2012/04/i-know-that-i-have-skewed-view-of-life.html">we take time to spend time</a>.&nbsp; We set aside this weekend to gather together, just us women and our children, and enjoy the company of our friends.&nbsp; This weekend is called our Women and Children Camping Excursion.&nbsp; When this yearly tradition first started, it was two women (my sister and me) and four children (our sons).&nbsp; That first weekend was fantastic!&nbsp; After living on the East Coast for years, I had recently moved back to California and was getting to know my sister better.&nbsp; That weekend I discovered that my sister is a really great lady and someone I wanted to be friends with.&nbsp; The next year, we decided to invite a few of our respective friends along.&nbsp; We had a handful of women and all the kids.<br /><br />Now, we are in the neighborhood of eight years running for this annual tradition.&nbsp; We haven’t missed a year yet and some years we do it twice.&nbsp; This year’s event is this weekend.&nbsp; I am so excited I can hardly stand still!&nbsp; This year we will have 13 women and 12 children.<br /><br />We have a rule as to what criterion defines ‘children’.&nbsp; If the child has moved out of their parent’s home, married, or had a child, they are no longer considered a ‘children’.&nbsp; All of my children have done one or more of these, so they can no longer attend.&nbsp; But, that is okay, I take my grandchildren.&nbsp; My oldest grandson is 9 now, and he has been attending since he was 2.&nbsp; My youngest grandson is almost 2 now and this will be his first year.<br /><br />The best part of this weekend excursion is the circle.&nbsp; The circle of lawn chairs.&nbsp; We all gather in this circle and chat.&nbsp; It doesn’t take long before advice is asked and given, before tears are shed, before we laugh so hard liquid runs out of someone’s nose, and before unconditional love is shared.<br /><br />These women are my friends, my besties.&nbsp; These women have my back if I ever need.&nbsp; These women are a part of my soul.<br /><br />Do me; no, do yourself a favor; take time to spend time with your girlfriends, if only for one weekend a year.&nbsp; It keeps you young, it keeps you healthy, and it keeps you sane.&nbsp; Plan your own Women and Children Camping Extravaganza.&nbsp; If you need help with how to plan one, <a href="mailto:brookeryter@live.com">let me know</a>.&nbsp; I have this down to a science.&nbsp; This year is a two night event, dinner for two nights and breakfast for two mornings are included (my sister and I do the cooking because we LOVE IT).&nbsp; The site fees, cost of food, and any other expenses for the weekend are divided up equally between all attendees over the age of 3.&nbsp; This year, the cost per attendee worked out to be only $22.00.&nbsp; $22.00!&nbsp; Think of it this way, had you met for dinner and drinks it would have cost you more than $22.00 and you would have only had a few hours.&nbsp; For our $22.00 we have two day and two nights and we don’t have to get dressed up or take a cab home!<br /><br />And to my friends I say thank you!&nbsp; Thank you for being true friends; true friends are those who really know you but love you anyway.&nbsp; (wink)<br /><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Female friendships that work are relationships in which women help each other to belong to themselves.</span> - <b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 13px;">Louise Bernikow</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br /></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Do not save your loving speeches for your friends till they are dead; Do not write them on their tombstones, speak them rather now instead. -<b>Anna Cummins<br /><br /></b>Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it’s only by this meeting that a new world is born. -<b> Anais Nin<br /><br /></b>True friends are those who really know you but love you anyway. -<b> Edna Buchanan</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Thanks for reading!<br /><br />Brooke Ryter</span></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-30416853458127774152012-05-09T09:43:00.001-07:002012-05-16T15:57:03.619-07:00MNINB (MY NAME IS NOT BOB)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woSJQuWneBA/T6qd5QpNEHI/AAAAAAAAAqY/lRxILtsn06Q/s1600/MNINB+Hashtag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woSJQuWneBA/T6qd5QpNEHI/AAAAAAAAAqY/lRxILtsn06Q/s320/MNINB+Hashtag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In April, I took part in the April Platform Challenge hosted by <a href="http://robertleebrewer.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-to-build-or-improve-your-writer.html">Robert Lee Brewer</a> through his MY NAME IS NOT BOB blog.&nbsp; It was amazing how many people took part in this challenge.&nbsp; We would comment on the daily task post with our opinion of the task, an update when we completed the task, and advice to others participating.&nbsp; It didn’t take long before <br /><a name='more'></a>the group of us participating became a community.&nbsp; A writerly support group, if you will.<br /><br />The challenge is over and with the end of the exercise one would expect the group of us to disperse and move forward with our different blogging and writing project…but we didn’t disperse.&nbsp; We are still a community; a writerly support group.<br /><br />We have a group on Facebook, a page on Google+, a group on LinkedIn, a group on GoodReads, and a Twitter hashtag (#MNINB).<br /><br />We have become the MNINB Group of Writerly Folks.&nbsp; We also call ourselves The Not Bobbers…fitting since we formed through MY NAME IS NOT BOB.&nbsp; Robert is a part of our little community and watches our interactions online.&nbsp; He pops in with an article and/or post of advice when he reads us batting around an issue, a question, etc.&nbsp; April may be over, but Robert is still teaching and guiding us, and for that (I am speaking for the group as a whole now and I hope they are OK with what I am about to say) we are extremely grateful and appreciative.&nbsp; THANK YOU ROBERT!<br /><br /><a href="http://larabritt.com/">Lara Britt</a>, one of the Not Bobbers, is doing a series on her blog about the MNINB community.&nbsp; She is highlighting blogs and introducing the world to the writers behind those blogs.&nbsp; Thank you Lara for your Annotated Blogroll Series!!<br /><br />Sometimes life does this…takes a small experience and lets it grow into something wonderful and fantastic.&nbsp; I am honored to be a part of the MNINB community and am grateful for all their support, advice, and friendship. &nbsp;I invite you to visit Lara’s site and learn more about some wonderful writers and where to find their work.<br /><br />If you would like to challenge yourself to the April Platform Challenge, you can.&nbsp; Robert has created a link list of our 30 day challenge and that can be found at Robert’s blog.&nbsp; <a href="http://robertleebrewer.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-to-build-or-improve-your-writer.html">http://robertleebrewer.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-to-build-or-improve-your-writer.html</a><br /><br />Connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and through my website. &nbsp;&nbsp;Plus, sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.<br /><br />Thanks for reading!<br /><br />Brooke Ryter</div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-74091086047351655902012-05-05T15:00:00.000-07:002012-05-05T15:00:04.659-07:00Time Management for Working, Writing, and Platform Development<span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Writing requires time management and social media (platform building) management and that schedule takes a little while to get right...and even then there is always something that alters the schedule a bit. &nbsp;I sometimes still get a little overwhelmed. &nbsp;I felt extremely overwhelmed when I first added platform building last fall on top of a full time job and writing my book. &nbsp;I had Facebook, RedRoom, Twitter, Google+, and a few other sites I was trying to manage. &nbsp; My commute to work is an hour each way, I am </span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">the President of an Arts Counsel in my spare time, organize art and social events, have two grown sons and a husband at home, grandkids, camping trips and other events, and my writing. &nbsp;That is a lot to time manage, but I have figured out what works for me. &nbsp;That is the key; to find what works. &nbsp;It took trial and error to figure it out. &nbsp;"Well crap, that isn't working!" was a common statement until I found a grove.</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I don't feel as overwhelmed anymore and I am thankful for all these opportunities and avenues I have to promote myself and my works.<br /><br />I will share my management schedule with you...just as an example and is no way meant to say this is the ONLY way. &nbsp;What works for me may not work for you.<br /><br />Twitter is run only through my cell phone and through Tweetymail. &nbsp;Blog posts and author website maintenance are done 2-3 times a week during my lunch hour.&nbsp; I have an editorial calendar that keeps the maintenance of these sites from becoming a ‘pull something out of my hat’ event.<br /><br />Monday - Friday<br />Get up at 5:00 (not all days, but I try)<br />Take the dogs out<br />Start up my laptop<br />Make coffee<br />Write until 6:45am<br />Leave for work at 7:30am<br /><br />FB notifications come in to my desk computer via email - I answer via email, this only takes a moment.<br />Google+ runs in the background nearly all day, I check it for no more than 3 minutes at a time during my breaks.<br />During my lunch, check and/or post to FB, LinkedIn, RedRoom, and GoodReads, then write if I have time left.<br />Arrive home from work at 6:30pm<br />Water my veggie garden<br />Make dinner<br />Do dishes<br />Fall onto couch next to Hubby<br /><br />Saturday – Sunday<br />Get up at 6:00am (this happens whether I want it to or not…someone told me it was part of getting old)<br />Take the dogs out<br />Start up my laptop<br />Make coffee<br />Write until Hubby comes down the hall from the bedroom.<br />Save my work, shut down computer, and enjoy the day with my family.<br /><br />I try not to write when my Hubby is awake. &nbsp;Why? &nbsp;I feel (and this is just me talking here) it takes away from spending time showing and telling him and my kids that they are most important in my life. &nbsp;I manage to write between 2,000 and 6,000 words a week with this schedule. &nbsp;I don't feel overwhelmed and my online presence and platform continues to grow along with my manuscript.<br /><br />I do carry a spiral notebook with me everywhere I go.&nbsp; I will get story ideas or have a concept for a story in progress and I will write it down.&nbsp; All my stories begin in the spiral notebook and I find it to be an extremely useful tool.&nbsp; Handwritten, sloppy writing creating an expansion on the story outline, but not the complete story, that comes later when I type it into the computer.&nbsp; Hard to explain, so let me show you instead.&nbsp; Shown below is a picture of J.K. Rowling’s story outline for one of the Harry Potter books, written in a spiral notebook.<br /><br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8NQ5u4Kth8/T6QjOuLu9qI/AAAAAAAAApw/JmFRYLVIZmM/s1600/jkrowling+story+outline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8NQ5u4Kth8/T6QjOuLu9qI/AAAAAAAAApw/JmFRYLVIZmM/s640/jkrowling+story+outline.jpg" width="460" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /><br />I told the Hubby last night.&nbsp; Now that the book is nearly finished, I feel like I have rounded the last turn on the track, I am running for the yellow ribbon at the finish line as fast as I can, and I have competition on each flank.&nbsp; He told me he understood how that feels and he said, “run Honey, RUN”.&nbsp; He is always supportive of my writing and has always been my cheering squad.&nbsp; I couldn’t ask for a better Hubby!!&nbsp; (sniff, sniff, tear)</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: &quot;Tahoma&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and through my website. &nbsp;&nbsp;Plus, sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.<br /><br /></span>Thanks for reading!<br /><br />Brooke Ryter</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-72067816742041577862012-05-04T17:00:00.000-07:002013-03-14T16:50:31.586-07:00Novel Outline ToolOutline…I need to do an outline for the novel.&nbsp; How can I write a novel from the story idea in my head and make sure I answer all the questions, resolve all the situations, assure each character is as strong as they need to be, etc., etc., etc.?<br /><br />Outlining a novel is a tool, a necessary tool (in my opinion) to writing a full length novel.&nbsp; Each writer needs to find the outlining tool that works for them.&nbsp; What I use may seem too simple or too convoluted for another writer.<br /><br />I took the concept of this tool from J.K. Rowling.&nbsp; It is the same tool she used for the<br /><a name='more'></a>Harry Potter&nbsp;books.&nbsp; It works like my mind works…fluid with some structure.&nbsp; Confused?&nbsp; Best way to keep you from being too confused is to stop talking about it and just show you.&nbsp; Below is a picture of J.K. Rowling’s outline from one of her books.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBEZ2g5VIzc/T6QnsT89YbI/AAAAAAAAAqE/JIG7keOyqJI/s1600/jkrowling+book+outline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="279" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBEZ2g5VIzc/T6QnsT89YbI/AAAAAAAAAqE/JIG7keOyqJI/s400/jkrowling+book+outline.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Click on picture to enlarge)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">See the arrows where she has realigned some of the outline.&nbsp; Places where she crossed things out.&nbsp; Fluid.&nbsp; Changeable.&nbsp; Something I can work with and that makes sense to me.</span><br /><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />Shown below is part of the outline for one of my novels. &nbsp;This was the first cut at this outline and it has substantially grown and changed since.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A6_YHAV3LEo/T6Qn56HoA8I/AAAAAAAAAqM/XCbpM7pqQs0/s1600/Book+Outline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A6_YHAV3LEo/T6Qn56HoA8I/AAAAAAAAAqM/XCbpM7pqQs0/s400/Book+Outline.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Click on picture to enlarge)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"></span><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">You can get a copy of this Novel Outline Tool and some other great outlining tools at <a href="http://www.fountainbluepublishing.com/" target="_blank">Fountain Blue Publishing</a>. &nbsp;They offer a <a href="http://www.fountainbluepublishing.com/free-downloads.html" target="_blank">FREE DOWNLOAD</a> of these tools and the tools are in usable formats!</span></span><br /><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and through my website. &nbsp;&nbsp;Plus, sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;Links can be found in the right sidebar.<br /><br />Thanks for reading.<br /><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Brooke Ryter</span></span></div></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-89079251999188944932012-05-03T12:04:00.000-07:002012-05-14T08:49:04.384-07:00Beta Readers Wanted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://mrg.bz/QTiBvK%20" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://mrg.bz/QTiBvK%20" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">I wanted to ask all of you a question...</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Are any of you interested in being a Beta Reader for some of the stories contained in&nbsp;</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; position: relative; text-align: center;">So, Whatcha Think?</em><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">You probably already know this, but our book is a collection of stories that are intended to take the reader on an emotional journey. &nbsp;Each one is tailored to present a life lesson in one way or another. &nbsp;Some are intended to be controversial and some are intended to teach that life lesson by having the</span><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"> reader walk the path with the character while they make terrible mistakes,&nbsp;misjudgments, and in the end, not succeed; leaving the reader saying...Oh Hell NO!!</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">A Beta Reader is someone who reads some of the stories prior to the book being published and comments. &nbsp;What we are looking for are honest comments. &nbsp;Tell us where there are&nbsp;inconsistencies, if the characters are not strong enough or are too strong, if there are holes in the story, etc., etc. &nbsp;We need the readers to be honest; brutally honest. &nbsp;Some people are uncomfortable with that because they fear how their comments will be received. &nbsp;I assure you, Paige and I are tough skinned and we can take it. &nbsp;We live by the motto...if you are mature enough to ask the question, you are mature enough for a truthful answer.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">If you are interested in being a Beta Reader for&nbsp;</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; position: relative; text-align: center;">So, Whatcha Think?</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">, send an email to sowhatchathink@live.com with&nbsp;</span><strong style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Beta Reader</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">&nbsp;in the subject line. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">All selected Beta Readers will receive credit in the book (if you want public credit) and after the book is published, you will receive a paperback copy of the book personally signed by Paige and I.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Please check out all the pages on my website. &nbsp;Learn about the books I am working on and all the other things I am up to. &nbsp;Fill out the Notification Form on my website (www.brookeryter.weebly.com) and you will receive an email when the FREE chapter download from&nbsp;</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; position: relative; text-align: center;">So, Whatcha Think</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">&nbsp;is available.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">On the Poll Questions page there is a place where you can submit a question you would like Paige and me to answer and the question and answer will be posted on the Q&amp;A page.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Connect with us on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and of course, by email.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Thank you for stopping by and for reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">Brooke Ryter</span>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-39178412422639776152012-04-30T15:50:00.002-07:002012-05-01T14:40:13.195-07:00Easter Magic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://mrg.bz/Lqc3kn" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://mrg.bz/Lqc3kn" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Life gives me endless story prompts. &nbsp;My spiral notebook has dozens and dozens of story beginnings that I will finish writing.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">I have so many story beginnings because I look for the magic moments everyday life offers. &nbsp;I would like to share one such moment of magic I experienced on Easter morning.</span><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">I made two Easter baskets, one for each of my two grandsons ages 1 1/2 and 3. &nbsp; These baskets contained just toys and eggs filled with fruit snacks. &nbsp;No grass, cardboard, or candy. &nbsp;The 3 year old is the first one up. &nbsp;He comes into the living room, walks up to me, and says, "Did the Easter Rabbit bring me sumptin'?" &nbsp;I point to his basket. &nbsp;He begins to remove all the toys and eggs from his basket. &nbsp;With each new item he removes, he says, "this is&nbsp;awesome!" &nbsp;Awesome must be his new word for the week.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">When my children were young, there was a commercial on TV around Easter depicting children saying, "Thank you Easter Bunny!" &nbsp;My children would always repeat the phrase when they opened their Easter Baskets. &nbsp;So, I say to this adorable little boy, "Did you tell the Easter Bunny thank you?" &nbsp;He replies, "He not here!" &nbsp;I said, "Just say "Thank you Easter Bunny!" and he will hear you." &nbsp;He argues, "No, he won't Grandma, he not here!" &nbsp;So, I say, "Let's got to the front porch and you can say it really loud and he will be able to hear you." &nbsp;The look on his face clearly spoke of his doubt that I had any grasp on reality. &nbsp;After all, the Easter Bunny wasn't here. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">We go out to the porch, he looks around, he says, "I don't see him." &nbsp;Just then, a white bunny bounces out of the shed, stops, and stares at him. &nbsp;I whisper, "There he is, now say, 'Thank you Easter Bunny'." &nbsp;He yells, "THANK YOU EASTER BUNNY!" &nbsp;The bunny is startled and quickly retreats back into the shed. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">He runs to his mom. &nbsp;"MOMMY...MOMMY...I SAW DA EASTER BUNNY!!"</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Now that is a magical moment!</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Please check out all the pages on my site (www.brookeryter.weebly.com). &nbsp;Learn about the books I am working on and all the other things I am up to. &nbsp;Fill out the Notification Form and you will receive an email when the FREE chapter download from&nbsp;</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; position: relative; text-align: left;">So, Whatcha Think</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">&nbsp;is available.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">On the Poll Questions page there is a place where you can submit a question you would like Paige and I to answer and the question and answer will be posted on the Q&amp;A page.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">You can find the other ways to stay connected with us in the right sidebar.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Watch for those magical moments...they happen every day.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Thank you for stopping by and for reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #003333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Brooke Ryter</span>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-23851181592880450472012-04-18T10:23:00.000-07:002012-05-01T14:41:17.898-07:00Don't Let Me Die!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Friday Fictioneers</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the Picture Prompt for this week's Friday Fictioneers. &nbsp;I <strike>will be writing</strike>&nbsp;wrote an approximate 100-word story to go with this picture. &nbsp;<strike>Check back on Friday to see what I was able to come up with. &nbsp;=)</strike>&nbsp; See below for what I managed to come up with. &nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to mention right here and right now that I had a hard time with this one. &nbsp;The prompt just refused to talk to me. &nbsp;Without my friend Kristin, this story would not exist. &nbsp;She gave me </span></div><a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">word prompts to go with this picture. &nbsp;Words that the picture spoke to her. &nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">THANKS KRISTIN!!</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you would like to join in on the Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge, go to Madison Woods site (she is the&nbsp;hostess&nbsp;of this Flash Fiction&nbsp;exercise) through this link. &nbsp;</span><a href="http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/2012/04/18/photo-prompt-for-the-friday-fictioneers-100-words-join-us-friday/">http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/2012/04/18/photo-prompt-for-the-friday-fictioneers-100-words-join-us-friday/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strike>See you on</strike>&nbsp;It's Friday!!</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://madisonwoods.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/water-drips-off-rock2.jpg?w=500" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://madisonwoods.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/water-drips-off-rock2.jpg?w=500" width="241" /></a></div><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My leg hurts so badly.&nbsp; I have been out here for days.&nbsp; I didn’t think I went that far off the trail.&nbsp; There has not been a single person pass nearby.&nbsp; I yell and scream only to receive silence after the echo fades.&nbsp; What was I thinking going hiking alone!?!&nbsp; I am so thirsty!&nbsp; My canteen was nearly empty when I slipped down the steep slope.&nbsp; My lips keep cracking open and bleeding when I try to call for help.&nbsp; I can hear water dripping, but I can’t find it.&nbsp; Where is it!?!&nbsp; God, please don’t let me die here…PLEASE!</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><br /><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and through my website. &nbsp;</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Plus, sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Links can be found in the right sidebar.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading and please comment on this story..I want to know 'Whatcha Think'.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooke Ryter</span></span></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4820682844794049341.post-28717974679023006902012-04-13T09:44:00.003-07:002012-04-18T14:12:05.489-07:00MICHAEL!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Friday Fictioneers</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Picture Prompt and the story.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please go to Madison Woods site (she is the&nbsp;hostess&nbsp;of this Flash Fiction&nbsp;exercise) to read her story and the stories others have written. &nbsp;</span><a href="http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/expectations/">http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/expectations/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hope you enjoy!!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://madisonwoods.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/van-winkle-tunnel.jpg?w=300&amp;h=253" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://madisonwoods.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/van-winkle-tunnel.jpg?w=300&amp;h=253" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I don’t see him anywhere!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I thought you were watching him!&nbsp; Damn it, why weren’t you watching him!&nbsp; He’s only four!&nbsp; You never take your eyes off of a four year old!!&nbsp; Damn it!”</span></i><br /><a name='more'></a><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“He was here just a minute ago.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I swear!&nbsp; If someone has kidnapped him!&nbsp; So help me God!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Honey, please...he is here somewhere!&nbsp; MICHAEL!&nbsp; MICHAEL!&nbsp; WHERE ARE YOU!?!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Maybe he went in there.&nbsp; Did you look in there?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No!” (Running towards the tunnel by the park benches) “Michael?&nbsp; Are you in here?&nbsp; Michael?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Is he in there!?!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“OH MY GOD!!!&nbsp; CALL 911!!&nbsp; HURRY!!!&nbsp; CALL 911 NOW!!! &nbsp;Baby, can you hear me!?!"</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please comment with your thoughts.</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, and through my website. &nbsp;</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Plus, sign up for free e-mail updates from this blog. &nbsp;</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Links can be found in the right sidebar.</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for reading and please comment on this story..I want to know 'Whatcha Think'.</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE - </i><span style="font-weight: bold;">I have been working on 'the rest of the story' and have decided it will be included in</span><i style="font-weight: bold;"> So, Whatcha Think!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooke</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div>Brooke Ryterhttps://plus.google.com/117254712459648576224noreply@blogger.com41